Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Y/N’s POV -

The morning light spilled over the cobblestones of Ketterdam, gilding the narrow alleyways and soot-streaked roofs like something out of an oil painting. The city was loud, sharp, and crowded. Everything Y/N had been warned against. And she loved it. A quiet, breathless smile curved her lips as she stepped onto the campus grounds. University . The word still felt foreign and thrilling on her tongue. Not just a place for learning but for her learning. 

Fjerdan women didn’t often attend university. Not unless they were married to diplomates or under heavy supervision. Not unless their studies were strictly religious. Not unless they were exceptions. Y/N L/N, the youngest daughter of the Fjerdan royal family, had become an exception. A political experiment, her elder brother had called it. “Try not to embarrass us,” he’d muttered at the docks as she stepped off the frozen soil of her homeland. The only place she had ever known. But she didn’t care what he thought. What anyone thought. 

Let them watch, she thought. Let them whisper…

She was here and she would learn everything available.

Tucking a notebook to her chest, Y/N climbed the stone steps toward her first class. Public Opinion and Public Policy. Humanities and politics, her sweet spot. Her nerves bubbled, but her excitement carried her forward. 

The lecture hall was tucked into the far end of the hall on the third floor of the Beleid building. The hallway outside the lecture hall was loud. Busy with students ready for their first class. Y/N stood alone near one of the large stone columns just down the hall, away from all the noise and people she didn’t know. 

One thing about growing up in the Ice Court is that you never learn to make friends. Especially not as a woman when silence is a virtue. 

Still, her distance didn’t stop a woman with ink black hair braided out of her face and a voice like honey from approaching her. 

“You seem new here,” she called as she approached, leaning against the column next to Y/N. “I’m Seraphina, or Fina for short.” 

“Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, I don’t really know anyone here. So maybe we could sit together…?” Fina asked although she seemed to trail off as if she wasn’t sure she should even be asking. “Unless of course you had other people you planned to sit with. In which case—”

Y/N cut off her panic rambling, finally having placed her accent as Zemeni. “I’d like that,” she reassured, “I’m realizing I’ve never been good with starting conversations.”

That made Fina laugh. “Don’t worry about it, I have enough conversation starters for the both of us.” 

Y/N found herself smiling for the first time since she stepped out of the Ice Court to begin her journey to Kerch. Never has she known women to be so spirited and so… free. 

At the end of the hall the lecture hall door swung open and the students gathered outside began to disappear through its threshold. 

“I haven’t been able to place your accent,” Fina says from Y/N’s right. “You’re Kerch is very good but you have this wide eyed look like you just stepped off a boat, so where are you from?”

“Fjerda.” She expected judgement.

“Cool! I didn’t think Fjerdan women travelled halfway across the world for schooling?”

“They typically don't,” She answered, unsure how much was safe to reveal. There were so many rules drilled into her before she was even allowed to think of applying for Ketterdam University. She wasn’t about to risk blowing her chances before they had even begun. Stay diplomatic , she thought to herself. “I was an exception, I guess.”

The two girls ducked into the room. The lecture hall wasn’t as big as some of the ones Y/N passed on her way here. It was cozy. Red chairs lined the class in five distinct rows, all facing the podium stood at the end of the call in front of a large black board.

Fina slid into a seat in the second row, Y/N following her. 

Her excitement was just as palpable as it had been all day. It was going to be a good day. A good year in fact. Or so she assumed, until he walked in. 

Nikolai’s POV -

Nikolai Lantsov hated classrooms. They smelled like ink and chalk. Of desperation and disappointment. Or worse—expectation.

He stifled a yawn as he slouched through the university courtyard, a pastry half-eaten in one hand, his coat undone, and his boots muddy. A Kerch professor had once called him "disrespectful." His mother had called him “a diplomatic necessity.” His father had simply muttered “go,” and shoved the letter of recommendation in his hand.

Let the world see Ravka’s charming disaster child tucked safely away in neutral territory. That was the idea. Bury the second son in books and sea air while Vasily made a mess of court back home.

He wasn’t here to study. He was here to disappear.

Yet, he had to be somewhere this morning. First day of the term. Something about the public or politics. He could hardly remember. 

Clearly going to class had been a mistake as the Beleid building was nearly impossible to find amongst row and row of concrete and brick buildings in varying shades of gray.

A girl outside waved and called his name. He winked, grinned, and kept walking. Half the thrill of Ketterdam was the anonymity. The other half was knowing how little people actually knew about him.

Finally finding the building on the far left side of campus, he rushed up the stairs. Third floor, room 305 , Nikolai continued to repeat in his mind occasionally glancing at the schedule half crumpled in his hand to ensure he actually got the numbers right. Being late for his first lecture was surely not the first impression he was wanting to make.

He made it to door 305, pushing the door open with a minute to spare. He scanned the room. 

Then froze . 

“Hey,” he murmured, nudging the lanky Kerch boy in the seat by the door, whose name was like Elliot or something. They’d bonded over a bar fight last week. “See the girl up front? Braids and green coat. Look familiar?”

The boy squinted, leaning half out of his seat to get a better look.

“Don’t make it so obvious,” Nikolai added, hand on the boys shoulder to keep him from leaving his seat fully.

The boy shook his head. “Nope.”

But Nikolai did. Or almost did. Something sharp and elegant about her face. Her posture. The way she started straight ahead, jaw tight. Then she turned suddenly as if having sensed he was watching her. 

Her eyes met his. Where had he seen her before? Her’s wide and panicked before quickly snapping back to the girl beside her, who had clearly noticed the odd interaction. 

He shrugged it off and started down the aisle.

Y/N’s POV -

“Sorry, what did you say?” Y/N asked Fina. patient and calm on the outside while internally she was screaming no, no, no, no!  

“I—are you okay?” The concern was clear in her chocolate eyes. This girl she met not even ten minutes ago actually cared that she was alright. The concern felt foreign and completely misplaced. Still it felt nice.

“Yes, sorry, I’m just nervous,” she lied so smoothly. Meanwhile Y/N’s fingers tightened around her pencil as the unmistakable figure of Nikolai Lantsov strolled into the lecture hall like it was a cocktail party. She’d recognize that smug, golden grin anywhere. The second Ravkan prince. The one who’d once stumbled into a diplomatic banquet half-drunk and started a fistfight with a Fjerdan envoy, or so she’d been told. The prince was surrounded by rumors.

Her stomach turned.

Of course it would be him. Of course the universe would drop her greatest source of national humiliation into her one place of peace. 

And now—

Djel help her—he was walking right toward them.

Please keep going. Sit literally anywhere else.

“Is this seat taken?” said a voice next to her. She didn’t even have to turn to know who it was. 

“No, all yours,” Fina replied, not sensing her friend’s growing dread. 

He dropped into the empty seat beside her, utterly unaware, still chewing something flaky. She could smell the jam. He didn’t even glance at her.

“He’s kind of cute,” Fina leaned in to whisper in Y/N’s ear. 

It's a miracle that Y/N even managed a nod. 

She sat perfectly still. Perfectly upright. Dread swimming behind her ribs as the professor placed his textbook on the podium with a resounding thud, causing her to jump. From the corner of her eyes she could see both Seraphina and Nikolai glance at her in concern. But Y/N didn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

Focus on your notes, she told herself.

Maybe coming to Ketterdam had been a mistake afterall. They had all warned her and she had been too stubborn to listen.

Chapter Text

Nikolai’s POV -

He didn’t realize until five minutes in.

The professor, a wiry haired fellow in a beige blazer that did nothing to his complexion, had started droning on about propaganda in the media, and Nikolai had started sketching a doodle of a duck in his margins when the girls beside him finally shifted in her seat.

He turned. Stopped breathing. He knew her.

“Wait,” he whispered, blinking at her, a grin creeping onto his face as he took in her profile. Shoulders set, hair pinned, and ice in her eyes as she glared at the front of the class as if turning to face him might physically hurt her. “You’re… you’re a princess, aren’t you?”

Y/N turned her head just slightly, eyes narrowing. “Does that line usually work?” 

Taken aback by her bluntness, he corrects himself. “You’d be surprised how often it works,” he winks. “But I mean it, you’re… Princess Y/N, no? Second child of the Duke of Elling.”

She paused in her note taking just briefly, enough to confirm his suspicions. “Please don’t speak to me,” she said, eyes straight forward and focused on the professor once again. Like he wasn’t even there.

He grinned wider. 

“Ah,” he said, tapping his pencil to his lip. “So we have met, then.”

Nikolai hadn’t meant to stare for the rest of the lecture, but how could he not?

Y/N L/N. Fjerdan royalty. Here. Sitting beside him. Wearing the kind of scowl that could start wars.

He’d caught her name once in a ledger, years ago. Knew she was the youngest. The overlooked one. He’d imagined her in long coats and furs, tucked behind her towering brothers. Not in a classroom, looking almost Kerch. Her skirt was an offwhite, and her blouse had flowers and greenery, a green coat draped over her chair, which matched her eyes. She looked every bit the student. The scholar, not the reserved Fjerdan girl she was no doubt raised to be. She wasn’t meant to be here. Not here.

When he whispered another comment halfway through the professor’s rant about imperialism’s effect on the countryside, she didn’t even turn.

“If you insist on speaking,” she hissed, voice like ice cracking across a lake, “I'll allow it after class. I’d like to actually learn something today.”

He raised his brows. She’ll allow it. Kerch was neutral ground. As infuriating as it was in war times, the Kerch merchant council refused to pick a side or send support in the ways of cash or munitions. It did mean that she couldn’t pull rank on him here. Still, getting the chance to speak with this enigma of the Fjerdan court did thrill him. 

“As the lady commands,” he whispered back, and fell quiet. Though his grin didn’t leave.

Y/N’s POV -

Her stomach ached with tension by the time the class ended. 

She packed her notes with surgical precision, hoping, praying, that if she moved fast enough, he’d simply forget. Or change his mind. Or vanish in a puff of Ravkan smoke.

He didn’t.

She followed Seraphina out into the hall. Promising to meet her for coffee before their class on Politics, Modernity and the Common Good tomorrow morning. Then she slipped down the hallway, boots echoing on the polished floor, she heard his steps behind her. 

She quickened her pace. So did he. 

“Princess,” he called lightly. “Is this what diplomacy looks like in Fjerda now? Fleeing?”

The taunt didn’t stop her. He could think her a coward, think her brash or tactless. But she was not having this conversation. Y/N had been warned by every governess, touter, and king’s advisor about the danger of Ravkan’s since she was old enough to remember. They are manipulative, deceptive, and none more so than the Lantsov’s. 

She called head down books under one arm, until a hand caught her wrist. Lightly, not cruel, but fast. She barely had time to gasp before he spun her gently, backing her up against one of the columns of dark stone which lined the hall between classrooms and offices. Not quite a wall. Not quite proper.

Her breath caught in her throat. Since her eyes first met him before class she had started she had tried her hardest to ignore his existence, to not even so much as glance his way. His blond hair seemed to have been styled by the wind, his blue eyes bore into her own. His shirt was slightly unbuttoned at the collar, improper. 

The space between them too was indecent. There wasn't space between them. She could feel the head of him, the soft press of his coat brushing hers. The column behind her was cold. He was not.

“Let go,” she said, voice low but sharp. Controlled even when she had lost all control the second he’d walked into class this morning. She pulled at her wrist still in his grasp.

He didn’t let go. Not yet.

“You know,” Nikolai said, tilting his head, “when I imagined who I’d be seated next to today, I didn’t expect a Fjerdan princess with murder in her eyes.”

“You’re making a mistake.”

He smiled, unfettered by her words. “Oh, I like you already.”

She looked up at him then, really looked—at the mischief in his eyes, at the lopsided grin, at the utter ease in his body. But underneath that, something more dangerous. Something quick, and smart, and entirely too unpredictable. 

“You’re Ravkan,” she said flatly. An insult as well as a fact.

“So I’ve been accused,” he was taking all of this like a joke. 

“And your people murder mine in the snow and call it strategy.”

The smile slipped, just a little. He blinked. “So we’re not pretending this is just academic tension then? Noted.”

“I’ve heard the stories. Of what your Grisha do to our people. Of what you do.”

He went still. For a moment, the flirty mask faltered. A crack. She tried to twist her arm free from his grip. Screw Fjerdan traditions which prevented women from learning self defense, right now she would love to punch him in his handsome smug face. The small movement of hers seemed to bring him back to the moment, his grip firm.

“I’m not a monster,” he said. Not playful now. “Just a man. Who was very curious why the Fjerdan girl wouldn’t look at him in class.”

She swallowed hard. “Because if I do, you’ll try to charm me. And I am not stupid.”

Something flickered in his gaze. Respect maybe, or a challenge.

He let go of her wrist. “Would you like to be charmed?” he asked with an award winning smirk.

She glared at him, brushing past him.

“Pity,” he murmured, stepping into the hall behind her and offering a little bow in parting. “You have such an excellent glare. Very inspiring. Makes me want to write poetry,” he called after her retreating form.

Infuriating.  

The day after their first encounter, Y/N arrived at her class fifteen minutes early, sat in the front row with Fina, and refused to look at the door even once.

He wasn’t even in this one. It didn’t matter.

“I can’t believe Professor Ephron is making us read 16 pages for the first day of class,” Fina complained, head in her text book. “This feels unfair. I mean I’m paying him to be here!”

Fina had been on her second cup of coffee by the time Y/N met her this morning. Apologizing for the fact she was exhausted and somehow 3 assignments behind on day two. 

Lucky for Y/N, her friend’s frazzled state ensured she didn’t notice Y/N's own odd behaviour. She checked every passing shadow. Still flinched slightly at any low voice that reminded her of his . Even though Nikolai was not in this class. 

A stout elderly woman with greying hair, and glasses that were too large for her face, took her position at the front of the room, and began her lecture with a reading from the text book. 

Fina flipped pages frantically until she found the passage indicated by the professor. Sighing with relief once she had.

Only then did Y/N feel like she could breathe again. This is how she had envisioned her days away from home, filled with classes, friends, and stress caused by assignments not by Ravkans too notable for their own good. 

The worst part wasn’t even that he’d cornered her in the hallway. It wasn’t the almost— almost touching, almost kind, almost dangerous. It was that for one stupid moment… she’d forgotten to be afraid. She couldn’t afford that.

Not in Ketterdam.

Not with a Ravkan.

Chapter Text

Nikolai’s POV -

There were two kinds of women at Ketterdam University. The ones who wanted to marry him, and the ones who wanted to slap him. He liked both, but neither was nearly as fascinating as the third category: Y/N L/N, who somehow wanted nothing from him except silence and space. 

Naturally, he found her irresistible.

She had avoided him entirely for the last two days.

That wouldn’t do.

So when Public Opinion and Public Policy rolled around again, the one class they shared, he arrived early. Unheard of. Borderline miraculous. He even chose a seat.  

Front left, just near the aisle. Close enough to watch her walk in, and when she did, stiff-backed and scanning for empty space, he lifted a hand and smiled.

“Princess,” he called lightly. “Saved you a seat.”

She stopped. Face blushing the same pale pink as her skirts. 

Then she turned and marched up to the opposite corner of the room.

Y/N’s POV -

She’d expected it.

She still wasn’t ready.

He was already there, sprawled and smug, as if he owned the classroom. As if he hadn’t tried to flirt with her, or press her against a wall, or stir up all the fears her tutors and guards had planted in her bones since she was old enough to understand what Ravkans did to girls like her.

She took her seat in the back row, away from him. Folded her coat in her lap and breathed. Until his shadow fell across her desk.

She looked up just in time to see him settling into the seat beside her, shifting his notes and smiling like they’d planned it.

She stared. “Why are you like this?” she whispered.

“Persistent?” he offered.

“Obnoxious.” 

Luckily, Fina walked in with a tall boy with red hair and a smattering of freckles. Fina laughed then gestured towards where Y/N and Nikolai were sat, as if inviting the boy to join them. He met Y/N’s eyes and she offered a polite smile. Still, he blanched and Fina took her seat beside Y/N alone. 

“I was going to say charming, but that works too,” Nikolai continued.

Ignoring him, she turned to her friend. “Sorry about your friend,” she knew being friends with royalty couldn’t be easy but she was also so glad Seraphina at seeked her out the first day or she would have been utterly alone and Y/N had no idea how to voice that just yet.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m sure we will catch up after class,” then she leaned forward to see the same handsome blond boy from last class. “I’m Seraphina, I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Nikolai,” He supplied, taking her outstretched hand.

“Prince Nikolai was just leaving,” she said with a glare. 

Fina’s eyes go wide for a second. “It’s alright, don’t leave on my account. I didn’t mean to interrupt your conversation.”

“That’s not—” Y/N started as Nikolai leaned in closer, just enough to keep others from hearing.

“I like it when you say my name. Though I think I might prefer ‘Your Highness’ better.”

She exhaled tightly. “We shouldn’t be seen together.”

“Why not?” he said, voice mock-innocent. “Afraid the paint might peel if we sit too close?”

“Because your reputation precedes you. And because you have a small harem of girls in bright petticoats who seem to think you’re available for breakfast, tea, and midnight scandal.”

He turned, glanced across the room at the giggling group of Kerch girls who were , in fact, watching them closely.

“Oh,” he said, then looked back. “Finally admitting you’re jealous?”

Fina laughs, then returns her eyes to her notebook like the black page is suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. 

Y/N narrows her eyes. “You are insufferable.”

“And you are very interesting when you’re trying not to be noticed.”

She straightened her spine. “This is a university. I am here to study. Not to be harassed by flippant Ravkan royalty.”

“You wound me,” he murmured, hand pressed dramatically to his chest. “But fine. We’ll study. You’ll ignore me. I’ll sit here, distracting you completely by breathing.”

She turned away, but he noticed the way her hand clenched slightly on her notebook.

“You two know each other, I’m guessing,” Fina leaned in to whisper once Y/N and Nikolai had finally stopped exchanging barbed words. 

“Not really,” Y/N told her friend. “But he seems insistent to try.” She noticed how when she finally glanced his way, his smile wasn’t quite so careless anymore.

It continued. For the next two weeks Nikolai followed the same routine. Arrive to their shared class early. Refuse to take notes nor listen to a word the instructor says, while simultaneously distracting Y/N. Although by the third day of this, he and Fina had begun to hit it off. Both shared an annoying love gossip and a good party. Still, he would flirt, jest, and then pretend as if he wasn’t trying to steal secrets from Fjerda every time he spoke to her.

As she left class she could feel him behind her. Not in the subtle, casual way a person just happened to leave class at the same time. No, this was the fifth time. Fifth class. Fifth shadow. Fifth game she was not in the mood to play.

She quickened her steps across the cobbled courtyard, the brisk Kerch wind tugging at the braids in her hair. Her boots clicked against the stone, purposeful and sharp, but so did his. Behind her. Close. Too close.

She rounded a hedge-lined path behind the lecture hall, usually it was a quiet shortcut to the dormitories. She hissed over her shoulder:

“Stop. Following. Me.”

He had the audacity to grin. “I wasn’t following. Just walking in the same direction as a very interesting person. You happened to be in the way.”

That was it.

She turned, whipped around so fast the book bag at her hip swung with the motion, and snapped .

“I am not something to chase, Lantsov!” Her voice rang our, clear and furious, slicing through the courtyard air like a blade.

Several heads turned. A few students slowed to watch the commotion. A couple of professors lingering near the steps paused, brows lifted. Y/N didn’t care. 

“You think you can just corner me, flirt like a child, and I'll what? Blush and simper like on of your little admirers in their lace and lipstick? I’m not here to play with you, Prince. I’m here because I fought to be here.”

Nikolai blinked, his expression unreadable now. Carefully blank.

She kept going. “You are everything I was warned about. A Ravkan with too much charm and no discipline. You’re not clever, you’re just loud. I don’t care what games you play in your court, or who you seduce, or whether you think this is all some grand joke, because I am not part of it.” She was breathing too fast. Her cheeks burned. The silence around them was awful.

And still, he didn’t interrupt. He just stood there.

Then, softly, he said, “I wasn’t joking.”

That caught her off guard. She straightened, lips parting. “What?” 

“I wasn’t just chasing you for fun.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the tension anyway. “And for the record, I didn’t think you’d blush. Maybe stab me, but not blush.”

She stared. This had to be some kind of trick. Maybe this was still part of his cruel joke, but he didn’t look smug. Not now. There was no teasing glint in his eyes, no crooked smile ready to spring. He looked… young and for once serious.

Y/N realized just how many people were watching them. A small crowd had half-formed along the path. Students whispering, others wide-eyed. Scandal. Scandal. Royal scandal .

She stepped back. Her throat was dry, and her hands were shaking.

“Don’t follow me again,” she said, quietly this time. “Please.” 

Then she turned, heart ponding, and left him standing there in the shadow of the hedge, alone.

Nikolai’s POV -

He should’ve left it. Should’ve let her storm off, let the crowd murmur, let her recover her pristine little composure and sweep back into her spotless Fjerdan routine. But he couldn’t help himself. When she snapped, when her voice cut through the courtyard, when she turned on him like a storm breaking through a frozen lake, it was the first real thing he’d seen in weeks.

No carefully chosen words or clipped diplomacy. Just fire.

So when he saw her again, walking alone through the east corridor with her arms tight around her books and her jaw clenched like she’d bitten through steel, he followed. 

Naturally.

“Pincess,” he drawled, falling into step beside her with all the ease of someone who had not caused a small scandal just a few hours prior.

She flinched, then stared straight ahead. “I told you not to follow me.”

“And I told you I enjoy long walks. Coincidence is a cruel mistress.”

She didn’t speak.

He leaned slightly toward her, voice low and laced with mockery. “You’re not nearly as… Fjerdan as I expected.” He waved his hand to gesture at her like that somehow explained it.

Now she stopped. Dead in her tracks in the middle of the hallway. Her eyes were sharp, bright, and furious when she turned to him. “Not as Fjerdan?” she hissed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He smiled, slow and wicked. “You’re a Fjerdan princess. Rumor has it your kind are raised to be polite, quiet, obedient, and tucked neatly behind glass like dolls. Not to shout in public. Not burn .”

She stared at him, cheeks still flushed from the confrontation, and for a moment, he almost thought she’d slap him. Then—

“And Ravkan princes,” she snapped, “are raised to manipulate, provoke, and lie. So congratulations. You’re doing very well.”

That actually made him laugh.

She turned to leave again, and this time, he let her go but not before saying, loud enough to carry. “It’s charming, really. You try so hard to be cold, but you’re all spark underneath.”

She didn’t stop. But her shoulders were stiff as steel as she disappeared around the corner.

Chapter Text

Y/N’s POV -

She’d heard the rumors. The whispers. Fina was supportive. 

“Let them talk, people are really starved for gossip these days.” she’d commented over breakfast. “Plus, two royals from opposing courts, it doesn’t matter if you’d ignored him or stuck a dagger through his heart, people were going to have a field day with your existence anyway.”

She was probably right but that didn’t change the way people looked at her while she passed. Girls snickered behind their hands. Others glared. 

A boy Fina tried to set her up with, as a distraction from the week's events, took one look at her and asked if she was Lantsov’s girl. Lantsov’s girl. Like he had any claim to her.

The breaking point came when professor Hemmings, old and sharp-eyed, had pulled her aside after class. He was one of few Fjerdan professors who taught in Kerch and it had been clear he had Y/N’s best interest in mind.

He lowered his voice, “you should avoid drawing attention, Your Highness. Kerch doesn’t take kindly to scandal. Nor does your court, I imagine.”

“I’m not the one chasing attention,” she muttered.

“I know, but that doesn’t matter,” the professor said, voice dry. “They’ll blame you for it anyway. You’re not Kerch, nor Ravkan. You’re foreign. You’re female. I can only imagine how unorthodox your education here is. If it continues, there will be pressure for you to withdraw… or they will just call you back.”

That landed like a rock in her chest.

Withdraw.

Return. 

Failure.

Y/N didn’t sleep that night. The words kept repeating in her mind. Her brother’s warnings before she left not to ruin this. Not to embarrass them. But that's what she was doing, wasn’t it?

The next afternoon, Nikolai struck again.

They  were leaving the politics hall when he leaned casually toward her as they passed through the doors, loud enoch for exactly the wrong people to hear.

“Careful, Princess. If you keep scowling at me like that, people might get the wrong idea.”

She spun to glare at him, lips parted in disbelief, but he was already walking backwards with a grin, saluting her like a rogue captain from some Kerch stage play.

Snickers followed her down the steps. And more whispers.

That was enough.

Nikolai’s POV -

He hadn’t expected her to grab his coat. One firm tug at the collar and suddenly he was being pulled, almost dragged, between two marble columns that lined the side wing of the academic building, where shadows polled and no one bothered to look twice. The instant they were hidden, she pushed him, hard, until his back hit the column with a thud.

“You’ve made your point,” she snapped.

He blinked, not even bothering to hide the amused twitch of his mouth. “If this is your way of seducing me, Princess, I’m open to discussion. But I usually prefer a little dinner first.”

“Stop it,” she hissed. “ Please .”

That caught him off guard.

There was no venom this time. No heat or fury. Just raw, unguarded exhaustion in her voice.

He tilted his head. “That desperate to be rid of me?”

“I want to stay.” She looked up at him then, eyes bright but glossy. “I want to learn. I want to be more than what I was raised to be, you of all people have to understand that. But if you… If you keep pushing me into public scenes—if you keep chasing me like I’m some stupid game— then I’ll be recalled. I will lose everything I fought for. Just to stand in that classroom.”

His grin faded slightly. Maybe she had a point, it was starting to feel a little cruel to torment her, but the less the Fjerdan court knew about Ravka and its allies the better. She was a liability to his country as long as she sat across that bloody classroom.

She was still close. Her fists curled at her sides, and her breathing was too fast, like she’d sprinted across the whole city just to get those words out. And maybe she had, emotionally, anyway.

“I’m not yours to play with,” she whispered. “I’m not part of your war.”

That's where she was wrong. She was part of this war whether she wanted to be or not, just as he had been his whole life, but… maybe she didn’t have to be.

He stared at her a moment longer. Then, slowly, deliberately, he pushed off the column, switching their places in a smooth step that reversed their proximity. Her back hit the cold stone now. He didn’t press in, not quite. Just leaned one arm above her shoulder, the other hanging at his side. He was smiling again but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Oh, Princess,” he murmured, voice low. “You are exactly part of this war. Just not in the way you think.” 

She looked at him, chin lifting in defiance. For once, he didn’t push it further. 

He stepped back. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll behave. Or try to.”

“And you won’t follow me again?”

“I didn’t say that, ” he grinned. “I did say I’d try.”

She let out a shaky breath. Then, to his complete surprise, she said softly: “Thank you,” and ducked under his arm to walk away.

He watched her go, her braid swinging behind her, boots clicking furiously against the tile. He leaned back against the column, staring after her.

Damn it.

Chapter Text

Y/N’s POV -

The first week without Nikolai Lantsov was the best week of her term. No flirtatious interruptions. No provocative remarks tossed across lecture halls. No scandal, no lingering gazes, no smug golden-haired prince grinning like the world owed him attention.

Just quiet. Glorious, blessed quiet. 

Y/N poured herself into her studies, breezed through a debate, and even earned praise from her most critical professor. She allowed herself to hope —for the first time since arriving in Ketterdam—that maybe she could truly stay . Maybe she had earned this place. 

She should’ve known it wouldn’t last.

Nikolai’s POV -

It had been a stupid game. 

Missing class. Skipping readings. Sleeping through the lectures he did go to, with a coat over his face, like that made it any less obviou s.

He’d never taken any of this seriously, because why would he? The whole university had been a political exile with gilded trimming. No one actually expected him to achieve anything. Just stay out of trouble and out of the public eye.

So he found work at the docks. An apprenticeship under a shipwright, learning to nativage and sail. It wasn’t very prince-like, definitely not something his family would approve of, but it was freeing. The reason he was in Kerch in the first place was to help Ravka, but there was little he could do for his messed up country as the second son. The spare. Now, if he was someone else, he could make a difference. Out on the high seas, where laws didn’t quite apply, and not everyone knew his face, that could be where he made his difference. 

But that was all a dream. Then, the letter came.

A thin parchment, folded three times, sealed with Ravka's unmistakable, double eagle crest.

Vasily’s words, written in his father’s tone:

You were sent to Ketterdam to prove your value, not disgrace it.

If you cannot maintain basic academic standing, we will be forced to reevaluate your role abroad. Even bastards can be replaced.

Nikolai had laughed at the letter. Then stared at it for a long, long time. Maybe it wasn’t a terrible thing to leave Ketterdam. The city certainly wasn’t a sight, nor had it been a particularly enjoyable trip abroad. The streets smelled of sewage and the people were still too terrified by the Queen’s Lady plague just a few years back to interact with travellers for more time than necessary. 

But leaving also meant no more freedom. Nikolai would be confined to the palace, with tutors more insistent he actually learns the material and guards waiting around every corner for when he inevitably attempted to avoid his studies, like he had as a child. 

Ketterdam, at the very least, allowed the young prince to be of service to his country, in more ways that court appearances and diplomatic dinners did. He was making connections within the Kerch Merchant council and in some of the darker corners of Ketterdam’s streets. Connections which may serve him later in life. When he could charter his own ship perhaps. 

But to do any of that he had to remain in Kerch. And to do that he needed to stay enrolled in the university. Which in turn required better grades… 

Finally, against all instinct, dignity, and survival training, he went to find her .

Y/N’s POV - 

She saw him from the corner of her eye. The flash of his coat, a deep navy blue. The purposeful gait. The way students gave way like a ride rolling back from something dangerous. Her heart sank.

She kept walking. Head down and arms full of books. But unlike for him, people didn’t move from her path, she was like every other student, which was ideal in most cases but right now it was hindering her escape route.

He caught up to her at the steps of the main building, too fast, too light-footed. As always.

“Princess,” he said breathlessly, a little too casual. “Studious as ever. Tell me, is it true you’ve read the entire political theory compendium twice?” he asked motioning to the thick, book bound in blue leather, she carried in the bag by her hip. 

She didn’t stop walking. “No. Three times.”

“Ooh, ambitious.”

“Leave me alone, Lantsov.”

He paused a beat. “I need help.”

That made her stop.

She turned, slow and wary, eyes narrowing like she was expecting a trap. “I’m sorry. What ?”

“I need help,” he repeated, more seriously this time. “With exams. I haven’t exactly been…” He gestured vaguely. “Conscious. For most of the term.”

She blinked. “You’ve barely shown up.”

“Exactly—and your welcome, by the way—but it has narrowed my options down to: begging, cheating, or seduction. You seemed the most likely to help me succeed or the least likely to poison me, so here we are,” he said with a smile.

She folded her arms, unimpressed. “You think this is funny.”

“I think I’m desperate,” he said, shrugging. “And you’re the most boring, brilliant, frighteningly focused person I know.”

Her lips twitched, just barely. Then she sighed. “Fine.” 

He blinked. “Really?” He’d expected to have to do more charming, or more realistically begging before Y/N L/N princess of Fjerda, turned scholar, would even reluctantly agree to help him.

“On one condition.”

He straightened slightly. “I’m listening.”

She thought it over, before deciding. “You’ll owe me.”

He paused. The smile flattered. “Owe you,” he repeated.

“Yes,” she said crisply. “A favor. Whatever I choose. When I choose. No questions.”

“You are terrifying.”

“Do we have a deal, or not?”

He hesitated for the first time. Because being indebted to the enemy, especially one so sharp, so careful, so angry , was a dangerous game. But failure was worse. Failure meant being dragged back home and locked away in obscurity again/ Forgotten. Dismissed.

“Deal,” he said, offering his hand.

She didn’t take it. “Good. The library, second floor, at three bells. Don’t be late.” And just like that she swept up the stains. Her braid swinging, her back straight.

Nikolai watched her go, wondering what price he’d just agreed to. And why, despite everything, he wasn’t entirely sure he regretted it.

Chapter Text

Y/N’s POV -

Y/N sat upright at the long oak library table, back straight, notes neatly arranged. Her guard stood a polite distance away, arms crossed, keeping a close eye on the prince slouched beside her like he had no business in such a sacred space. Which, in her opinion, he didn’t.

“You’ll need to actually read the material if you want to pass,” she said without looking at him, quill dancing neatly across the page as she took notes from the open textbook.

Nikolai Lantsov propped his chin in his hand and gave a mock sigh of deep tragedy. “You wound me, princess. I was hoping your brilliance might be contagious.”

“If only idiocy was equally infectious, you’d have turned the whole university to ash by now.”

He grinned. “You have missed me.”

Y/N turned sharply toward him, then immediately regretted it. He was far too close, his shoulder brushing hers when he leaned in to glance at her notes. His scent—cedarwood, sea salt, and something she couldn’t quite place—clouded her thoughts. She hated how much her pulse betrayed her.

“I haven’t,” she snapped. “I was relieved.”

“Ouch,” he said, but his voice was more amused than offended. He reclined again in the chair, hands folded behind his hand. “It’s not like I was doing nothing while skipping class, you know.”

She glanced at him, genuinely curious despite herself. “What were you doing then? Lounging on a pile of coins? Stealing kisses from half of Ketterdam?”

She had seen him sleeping through the classes he did attend. Charming professors into extensions for projects he never planned to complete in the first place. Even now he was more preoccupied with the other people around them in the library, then in the textbook she had laid out before him. 

He smirked. “Flattered, you think I am capable of multitasking. But no,” he leaned forward, forcing her to lean back until her back hit the chair, spine straight. “I’ve been apprenticing under a shipwright. Building hulls. Learning navigation. Thought it might be useful.”

She blinked. That… she hadn’t expected. “You want to sail?”

“I do sail.” He rolled a pencil between his fingers. “Though if anyone in Ravka asks, I was weeping over textbooks and praying to pass politics.”

“And now you’re here. Why?”

“Because, my dear Y/N. I received a letter that essentially said: pass your exams or don’t come home . So here I am, groveling at the feet of the world’s most insufferably brilliant scholar.”

She narrowed her eyes, attempting to hide her smile. “You’re mocking me.”

“Only a little.” His smile softened, just for a second. “But I meant what I said. If anyone can help me pass, it’s you.”

Y/N hesitated. That small crack in his mask of arrogance shouldn’t have mattered. But it did. 

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll help. But you owe me.”

He arched a golden brow. “And what would you ask of a Ravkan prince in your debt?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” she said primly, gathering another book from her satchel. “But trust me, you won’t like it.”

He laughed, low and genuine. “Can’t wait.”

“Now, the term public opinion is used to describe the beliefs and attitudes that people have about issues, events, political officials, and policies,” Y/N described, tapping a highlighted sections in her textbook with the back of her pen. When she glanced up to ensure he was listening, she realized Nikolai was already looking at her. 

Nikolai’s POV -

He expected her to be late. He half-hoped she wouldn’t show at all.

Instead, Princess Y/N was already seated when he arrived. Book open, notes written in a tight orderly script, a quill poised between her fingers like a weapon she knew exactly how to wield. Her head was bent, soft curls spilling forward over her shoulders, and the late afternoon sun through the library windows pained her in gold.

She didn’t look up when he walked in, just said, “You’re late.”

“I’m early,” he countered, with a grin.

“You were supposed to review chapters two through four. If you’re just arriving now, you haven’t had time.”

He hated how quickly she could flatten his smugness. But what annoyed him more was the fact that she was right.

The girl at his side, a Kerch beauty with perfect posture and bright lipstick, looked between them with mild interest. “This is the girl you said was helping you?” she asked.

Y/N finally looked up. Her eyes flicked from him to the girl beside him and then, like a shutter closing, her expression went flat. Polite. Cold. Similar to the way she had looked at him, calculating, or really… judging. 

Nikolai nodded. “That’s her.” While he was saying it to Tanya, his eyes never left Y/N’s. 

Y/N stood and dipped her head in a small, courteous acknowledgement. “A pleasure. Though I doubt the prince mentioned me by name.”

“Not exactly,” the girl said with a teasing smile. “Just that she was too smart to tolerate him for long.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed a fraction, flicking between him and the new girl. She almost smiled at that despite herself. “Well,” she said at last. “He’s lasted longer than I thought he would.”

The Kerch girl laughed, leaning up and kissing his cheek. “Good luck, then. I’ll see you later?” she asked hopefully.

“Mm,” he said, distracted now as Y/N had already sat back down, flipping to the next chapter of the textbook with deliberate focus. Sliding it across the table to face the empty seat meant for him.

The door hadn’t even closed before he dropped into the seat across from her. 

She didn’t look at him. “You’re wasting both our time if you are not serious.”

“I am serious.” He tugged out a chair beside him, putting his feet up. “Don’t let the lipstick distract you.”

“I didn’t,” she replied coolly. “You, maybe.”

He chuckled under his breath but opened a notebook. Stealing the quill from her ink pot, he was prepared to actually study for once. “Alright then, Professor. Enlighten me.”

Fifteen minutes in, Nikolai realized she wasn’t just trying to make him feel stupid.

When he paused to frown at a paragraph, she didn’t scoff or sigh. She waited. When he misused a term in a summary, she leaned closer and gently corrected it, her fingers tapping just above his handwriting. Her voice was soft, but confident. “You’re mixing up the two treaties. Try this, explain it to me like you’re telling the story.”

So he did. It felt stupid at first, as he started it with grandeur and a once upon a time , but when he got halfway through without stumbling, she smiled. 

“See? You do understand it.”

He blinked. Something about her smile made his chest feel too tight. 

“You actually want me to pass,” he said quietly.

Y/N glanced at him from beneath her lashes. “Of course I do.”

It sounded strangely like a compliment. “Even though I’m Ravkan. And infuriating.”

“Yes. But you’re not entirely hopeless. If my family or I have to continue this long tradition of debates with Lantsovs, I should do my part to ensure one of you are at least coherent enough to do it properly.” She smiles at him, a sparkle of mischief in her eyes. “Now go again, from the top.”

He got through the entire passage without a single correction. Her praise was quiet but warm. When she finally looked at him, he felt something settle in his chest. A recognition. A shift.

He hadn’t known she could smile like that. Or that someone so clever, so guarded, might look at him like he could be something more than a failure.

Nikolai didn’t know what to make of that. But for the first time, as he watched her neatly file the textbooks away in her bag, he wanted to come back. Not because of the upcoming exams. Not because he now owed her, but because of the way she’d looked at him when he got it right. 

Over the next week they met nearly every day. Always in the library, at the table near the window, overlooking the fountain in the courtyard. Y/N was always there early, Nikolai would always wander in late, coat slung over one arm and books forgotten in his room. 

Y/N started bringing in a spare quill, so he would stop stealing hers the few times he chose to actually take notes. They settled into a rhythm that took both young royals by surprise. Until one day… something changed.

Chapter Text

Nikolai’s POV -

She was late.

He had been here ten whole minutes, a textbook open in front of him, tapping his pen against the page like a metronome for his growing impatience. Usually, he was the one breezing in late, tossing out some excuse about horses or hallway diplomacy. But today? He’d arrived early. Maybe not on purpose. Maybe just because he had nothing better to do. But he had expected to see her already bent over a book, ready to chastise him. 

And now she wasn’t here. 

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Well, well. Looks like the princess is the forgetful one now.” He said it aloud. Half to the air, half to himself.

Still she didn’t appear.

Thirty minutes passed. Then an hour. The grin slipped away. 

At some point, he stopped rereading the same paragraph and stood, pacing once around the library like a restless cat. He even peeked into the hallway, as if she might come bustling in, arms full of notes and muttering about being held up by some dignitary or appointment. 

She didn’t.

He left the library, weirdly defeated. He wandered through the courtyard. Then the east wing. Then the dining hall. Then the study annex. 

Nothing.

It wasn’t until the next day that he saw her again.

Same table. Same posture. Same damn tidy handwriting. It was as if nothing had happened.

“Where were you?” he demanded, striding toward her. 

She didn’t look up. “Good morning.”

“You’re ridiculously late,” he said. “You missed an entire session.”

Y/N blinked once, then slowly turned a page. “I had an exam yesterday. We discussed it last week.”

His mouth opened. Closed. “You never said the exact day.”

“I did. You weren’t listening.”

That… tracked.

She finally looked at him and though there was no bite in her tone, something about her quiet confidence made him feel distinctly off-balance. She wasn’t flustered. She hadn’t forgotten. She’d simply had her own responsibilities. 

And yet, she still showed up today.

Still here. Still helping him. When she had her own exams to worry about.

“You studied for that and kept tutoring me?” he asked, surprised.

“I didn’t see the harm,” she said simply. “Helping you forces me to reprocess the material. It’s good reinforcement.”

He could tell it wasn’t the whole reason.

She cared, at least a little, whether he passed. Whether he improved. Even when she didn’t have to. 

“Was it difficult?” he asked, quieter now.

She raised an eyebrow at him, confused.

“Your exam?”

“Oh,” Y/N’s eyes lit up, this was one of very few times they have discussed topics other than the material at hand. One of very few times they diverged from the safe topics and feelings—of any kind—were not safe. “Harder than I expected,” she admitted. “But I managed.”

She offered him the spare sheet of notes she’d already copied out for him. He reached for it at the same time she did. Their fingers brushed and she went still. So did he. 

The contact was light, but there was something warm beneath it. Her eyes flicked up, just for a second and he caught the look before she glanced away again. Withdrawing her hand as if burned.

“I’ll be ready next time,” he said, changing the topic.

“You’d better be.”

He hesitated. Then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a piece of parchment. “There’s a gathering tomorrow night. Music. Wine. Lots of noble children pretending they know how to talk about trade agreements.”

She raised a brow. “Your idea of a good time?”

“My idea of a distraction.” He slid the paper toward her. “You should come. I’ll be painfully bored otherwise.”

She eyed the invitation. Smiling despite herself. “And this is… what? A bribe for my continued help?”

“No,” he said. “A thank-you.”

He didn’t wait for her to accept. Just gave her the ghost of a smile and turned back to his book, though he didn’t absorb a single word after that. 

Y/N’s POV -

Y/N was perched on the edge of Seraphina’s bed, flipping through a book of Zemini folktales in her lap. Feet swinging for the bed, as she glanced over to her friend. Fina rummaged through the trunk at the foot of her bed, searching for a pair of earrings she’d misplaced.

“There’s a party tonight,” Y/N said absently, turning a page. “Lantsov invited me.”

The events of the day keep replaying through her mind. It wasn’t often the topic of conversation during their study sessions diverged from political theory. The one time it moved to actual political events, the two had ended up in a heated debate attempting to justify military presence along the borders. Neither were particularly pleased with the outcome of that hour. It had become so easy to forget he was anyone else but another student when they were together. Just another perfect, golden haired, student with a disarming smile—

She glanced up from her book, ridding her wandering thoughts. 

Fina was frozen mid-rummage. “Lantsov…?” 

Y/N hummed in vague confirmation, returning to her reading. “The Ravkan prince. He—”

Fina straightened so fast she nearly smacked her head on the lid of the trunk. “You were personally invited to a party by Prince Nikolai Lantsov and you’re telling me this like it’s the weather?”

“It’s not important,” Y/N said, her tone clipped, eyes remaining on the book in her hands. “He invites everyone. I’m sure it wasn’t—”

Fina’s eyes narrow, a teasing smile curling at her lips. “You mean to tell me that Prince Trouble himself sought you out, personally , and you’re just… going to ignore it?”

“Yes.” Y/N looked up at last, expression flat. “I am helping him study. That is as far as this relationship goes. It is purely professional.”

Fina gasped theatrically, clutching at her heart. “The scandal—”

“No scandal.”

“The betrayal. The missed opportunity for the most entertaining night of your life.”

“It’s hardly—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” Fina was pacing now, braids swaying with each turn. “Do you have any idea what this means? The connections? The gossip? The sheer spectacle of it? Y/N L/N, you have to go.”

“That’s exactly why I shouldn’t,” Y/N countered. “The last thing I need is to be seen at some raucous Kerch gathering with a Ravkan prince, of all people.”

Fina arched a brow. “So, you’re worried about looking too interesting?”

“I’m worried about looking improper ,” Y/N said, but she already knew she was losing the argument.

Fina grinned. “Improper sounds fun.”

The sound of boots pacing across the worn dormitory rug had been echoing for ten minutes

“Fina, I’m not going. There’s too much reading for tomorrow's seminar and I’m not—” Y/N tried to rationalize as Fina continued to get ready. 

Fina glanced at her pacing friend for the vanity mirror. She was now wearing a silk dressing robe the colour of deep wine, her braids piled on top of her head where she was pinning them into a crown shape. “Y/N, this is the event of the year. At least in Kerch. You cannot spend your youth in dusty lecture halls while the rest of us are dancing, drinking, and making questionable decisions we’ll regret at breakfast.”

“That’s exactly the kind of thing my father would be horrified by,” Y/N said dryly. 

Fina put in an earring, having given up on her search for her missing pair and settling instead for a pair of golden hopes. She had already made up her mind about the party. Y/N was still having doubts.

“And since when do you listen to your father?” Fina’s eyes widened in mock innocence.

“Since always,” Y/N said automatically, though the answer felt thinner than it once had.

Fina crossed the room in two steps, taking Y/N’s hands within her own. “Please.” She drew the word out shamelessly, practically begging. “One night. One drink. One dance. And if you hate it, we’ll leave, I promise.”

Y/N sighed. “You’re impossible.”

“Yes, and yet you adore me.”

Within minutes, Fina had dragged Y/N to the wardrobe, flipping through gowns with dramatic flair. “Too drab. Too formal. This one makes you look like you’re about to attend a funeral, not the party of the year—ah, here.” She pulled free a soft emerald green dress, its skirt flowing and sleeves delicate. “Green. Perfect. Ravkans love green,” she winked. “And so do you, though he won’t admit it.”

“I am not dressing to please Ravkans,” Y/N said, but she didn’t stop Fina from pressing the gown into her arms.

As they dressed, they helped fasten each other’s buttons and smooth the fabric. Fina teased her about her meticulous braiding, suggesting they leave her hair down for once. “It’ll scandalize every Fjerdan within a hundred miles,” she said with a grin.

“That’s the problem,” Y/N muttered, though her cheeks warmed as she let Fina work the pins free. The weight of her fell over her shoulders in loose waves. Improper, yes, but oddly freeing. 

“See? Gorgeous. And not a single soldier here to tell you to pin it back,” Fina said.

Y/N caught their reflections in the small mirror about the desk. She barely recognized herself. Less the guarded princess, more the young woman she might have been without the constant shadow of expectation. 

“This doesn’t feel very proper,” she murmured. What would my people think?

Fina’s grin widened. “Good. Now let’s go cause a little trouble.” 

And she realized the only answer to her own question had been answered. It didn’t matter. Not here. Not right now.

Chapter Text

Nikolai’s POV -

Nikolai hadn’t expected her to actually come. He’d extended the invitation half as a joke, half to test how far this… thing between them would stretch. So when he caught sight of her across the room with her hair down for once. In a gown of stunning emerald fabric and lined in silver stitching that caught the lantern light with every step. He blinked once, twice, wondering if the wine had finally made him start hallucinating bookish princesses.

But it was her.

She stood near the entrance, stiff-backed and unsure, arms linked with a woman in a sunset orange gown. Her eyes darted around the room like she was preparing to bolt. Saints, she looked painfully out of place. And lovely. Not in the loud, artful way most of the girls here were dressed but quietly. Softly. Naturally. 

He started toward her without thinking, wineglass still in hand. The crowd buzzed around him, half-giggling girls in gauzy sleeves and scholars with flushed cheeks. But his sights were only on her.

Y/N’s POV -

The tavern-turned-ballroom glittered with warm lamplight, strings of paper lanterns swaying faintly in the early winter breeze. The scent of spiced wine and sugar-dusted pastries mingled with the distant hum of music and laughter.

Y/N stepped inside, he hand looped through Fina’s arm. Fina was striking in a sunset-orange dress that made her rich brown skin glow. Her braids were threaded with gold beads that caught every flicker of light, and she moved with the casual grace of someone born knowing they belonged wherever they stood. 

Y/N leaned closer, keeping her voice low as they paused at the threshold. “You realize if anyone from my father’s court saw me here, I’d be back in Fjerda by dawn.”

Fina’s lips curved into a slow, knowing grin, her eyes catching something in the crowd. “He won’t find out, you need not worry. Plus, you can blame it all on the bad influence of your dear friend.” 

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she was grateful. Fina had been her first real friend since arriving in Ketterdam, someone immune to petty rivalries and careful court games. Fina was her only real friend here, she slowly realized. 

It was a little worrisome that Fina and Lantsov were the only two people she had really spent time with since the semester began. A friend and an enemy. 

Tonight, Fina had insisted she come out, dragging her from her books with the promise of “just one drink.”

They’d barely taken three steps into the crowd when a familiar voice carried over the din.

“Well, this is an unexpected pleasure.”

Nikolai Lantsov, golden haired, impossibly smug, leaned against a polished column like the entire evening had been staged for his entrance and smiled at her. 

“Lantsov,” Y/N said, her tone neutral.

“Princess,” he grinned, pushing off the column to speak with her, his voice a smooth mix of amusement and the buzz of alcohol. “You look like you’re here on accident. Did the siren call of music lure you in? Or was it Fina?” 

“Definitly Fina,” Fina said without missing a beat.

Y/N flushed a pretty shade of pink. “You invited me.”

“Yes, but I didn’t think you’d say yes. Usually you’re too busy reminding me I’m the worst decision my country ever made.”

The three of them moved through the party together for a time, Nikolai staying close to Y/N’s side far longer than she’d expected.

“That there,” Nikolai gestured to a man with curt black hair and an ill-fitting navy waistcoat, “is Bram Van Verent, son of Gert Van Verent. Rumor has it his father is profiting from the illegal slave trade, but no one has proof. Or the confidence to go after a member of the merchant council.” 

Fina spotted someone she knew across the room. “Two minutes,” she told Y/N, squeezing her hand before vanishing into the crowd. 

Still Nikolai remained at her side, offering his arm in place of Fina’s. Y/N took it reluctantly. 

“Hanna Smeet,” He nodded in the direction of a girl in a red dress and a bit too much rouge. “She’s the daughter of a half decent lawyer if you ever find yourself in need.” 

“Why are you telling me all this?” she asked, her fingers toyed with the edge of her sleeve. Nervous, but still here. 

“It might be helpful to you someday,” he replied honestly. Then chuckled, changing the subject. “I’m glad you came. You clean up beautifully. Let me get you something to drink?”

Before she could say no, he was already slipping off into the crowd. 

“Wait there,” he called and turned back to face her just briefly before he disappeared behind a few students in exaggerated dresses. 

This night wasn’t as she had expected. Nikolai had stayed close, sharing the secrets on some of the few in attendance this evening, deflecting a partially pushy student trying to cut in on their conversation, and he had even managed to coax a laugh from her over some story about his time at sea, when he really should have been in class. Now he had gone off to fetch them drinks. 

Left alone, Y/N let her gaze wander the sea of colours and textures that was Kerch fashion. It was all much bolder than what she had known in the ice court. The thoughts had wandered until a tall man with dark hair and a sharp jaw stepped into her path. His coat was finer than most in the room, his smile quick and practiced. 

“You must be Princess Y/N,” he said smoothly, his accent faintly Kerch. “I’ve been hoping to make your acquaintance.”

The man’s smile had been charming enough at first, sharp, polished, practiced, but Y/N felt it falter into something heavier the longer they spoke.

“I’ve heard of you,” he said, leaning just a little too close. “The youngest L/N. Rare to see someone of your standing here, without guards… or chaperones.”

“My friend is here,” Y/N said evenly, scanning the room for Fina’s familiar orange gown. She didn’t see her.

“Ah,” the man drawled, “but your friend is not the one I’m interested in.” His hand landed on her chin forcing her to face him once more. His gaze swept over her like a thought she couldn’t shake off. 

She took a small step back, forcing his hand to drop. Y/N intended to excuse herself, find Fina and get out of here. 

This was all a mistake , she thought to herself  as she took a second step away, his hand closed around her wrist, light enough to feign politeness, firm enough to tell her she wouldn’t walk away easily. 

“I was hoping for a dance,” he said.

The Fjerdan instinct drilled into her since girlhood told her to smile, to be agreeable, to accept the offer whether she wanted to or not. She forced a polite curve to her lips. “One dance.”

That was part of the deal after all. One drink. One dance. Then she could leave . 

Nikolai’s POV -

It took longer than it should have to flag down a servant. When he returned with two glasses in hand, the spot where he’d left her was empty.

His brow furrowed. He spun slowly, scanning the clusters of students. No flash of emerald. No delicate figure standing awkwardly near the wall.

And then he saw her.

In the arms of a tall, dark-haired man. Her hand was on his shoulder, his too low on her waist. They were moving slowly in a circle, and though she was clearly flustered, she didn’t pull away. She was smiling. 

Nikolai stood frozen.

Not because he cared. He didn’t. This wasn’t about… that.

It was just, she was supposed to wait. He’d asked her to wait.

He made his way back to a corner, downed his own glass in one gulp, and stared at the couple dancing under the candlelight. She really was too polite for her own good. He could see it in the way her posture remained perfect, her eyes fixed slightly over the man’s shoulder. Letting him talk. Letting him lead. She was doing what she’d been taught. Fjerdan manners, courtly smiles. Let the man speak first. Let him lead.

But Nikolai couldn’t stand it.

Y/N’s POV -

She hadn’t meant to say yes, not to the drink. Or to the second one, and definitely not to the second dance, but with the alcohol thrumming in her veins it seemed almost like a decent idea. 

Across the room she saw Fina laughing with a girl in pale pink. She had spotted Nikolai on the edge of the crowd in conversation with a small group of students. Everyone was socializing, she’d felt awkward standing alone. 

The man led her onto the floor for their second dance. The music was bright, the crowd lively, but she was hyperaware of how close he held her, how he ignored the rhythm in favor of keeping her pinned against him. She could smell the wine on his breath. 

Fjerdan instinct dictated you say yes. You smile. You do not embarrass a man in public. But now she was regretting it. 

He was too close. Too familiar. His hand hadn’t moved from her waist. His jokes had turned crude as the night wore on. His breath, heavy with wine, ghosted the shell of her ear when he leaned in too far.

When the song ended, she tried to step away. “Thank you, but—”

He’d kept her anchored with fingers that pressed too tightly. 

And she… she was dizzy. She hadn’t had that much. Maybe a glass and a half. But her limbs were warm and slow, her thoughts trailing fog. 

“You look pale,” he interrupted smoothly, his arm sliding around her waist. “Perhaps we should get some air.”

“I don’t—”

“I insist.” 

A break. Just a moment. She nodded, fresh air sounded good. Slipping toward the door she had entered from, the room suddenly seemed too much. The rich colours of gowns and waistcoats all blending together in a nauseating blur. The lights that had once provided a nice ambiance seemed far too bright. 

He was steering her toward the door, ignoring the fact her feet barely wanted to work as she slowed. Her pulse spiked.

And then, like a lighthouse through mist, she spotted him. There across the room was Nikolai, standing near the drinks table. Laughing with a few students, one hand lazily curled around a drink. He caught her eye the same moment she caught his. He looked half-amused, half-curious. Her stomach turned with relief. They were walking toward him. He stood between her dance partner—who was now partially dragging her from the room—and the door. 

“I—one second,” she tried to move in Nikolai’s direction. 

“I really think you will feel better once we are outside,” her partner continued. 

“I just want to say goodbye,” she tried again. Be diplomatic , she told her spiraling mind, be smart . “He invited me, I have to at least…say goodbye.”  

She crossed the room, her date standing a little too close behind her. She wobbled slightly, pressing a hand to the wall to steady herself. 

“Nikolai,” she said, touching his sleeve. “I—I need you help.”

His eyes swept over her, and something unreadable flickered there. But his lips twisted in a lazy smile. “Seemed like you were doing just fine. Dancing the night away with tall, dark, and forward.”

She flinched. “Please—” 

“I didn’t realize you were so popular , princess.”

She tried to speak, but her mouth felt dry. Her heart pounded too hard, too fast.

“Come on,” came a voice behind her, his fingers curling around her arm like a cuff. “You said you needed air, didn’t you?”

Did she? She didn’t remember anymore.

“Let’s get you outside,” the man tugged her in the direction of the door.

She felt her breath hitch. “Yes, but I should find Fina—”

“Nonsense,” the man interrupted, his arm tightening. “She can enjoy herself. I’ll take care of you.”

“I can tell Fina where you’ve gone,” NIkolai offered helpfully, still smiling. “You can enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Nikolai’s mouth twitched like he was about to say something else, but instead he turned back to the story he was telling. 

She was alone, he wasn’t going to help her. 

“I’m calling in my favor,” she said quickly, low enough that only Nikolai could hear if he was paying attention. 

She turned in time to see the polite smile her date aimed at Nikolai, but there was tension in his grip. Not guideing— dragging . 

Her feet stumbled as he pulled her through the door toward the front steps. Panic flared in her chest as her vision began to blacken around the edges. 

Chapter Text

Nikolai’s POV -

“I’m calling in my favor,” she whispered, barely audible. 

That changed everything. Nikolai straightened instantly, all the lazy amusement gone from his face. He glanced over his shoulder where she had been not a second earlier but she was gone. A flutter of green stain disappearing through the now open doors. 

The wine vanished from his blood like smoke. He pushed through the crowd without apology, ignoring the startled looks, the spilled drinks.

The night air was a slap of cold after the heat of the ballroom, sharp enough to sting the lungs. Nikolai shivered, but didn’t slow his pace. By the time he spotted them, Y/N was already at the bottom of the steps. The man’s hand was still around her, as he attempted to guide her through the door to a carriage with more force than strictly necessary.

“I’d rather go back inside—” She protested, words slurred.

“You’ll be fine.” The man’s voice carried an edge now, the pretense of charm slipping.

“Princess,” Nikolai’s voice carried over the courtyard. “Is there a problem here?” he asked. Descending the stairs with deliberate grace, calm despite the nerves humming through him. 

“She’s unwell. I was just—” the man’s grip tightened. Y/N letting out a squeak in response. “We are just talking.”

Nikolai’s voice was smooth. “Mm. From where I’m standing, it looks less like talking and more like an abduction in progress.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m rarely ridiculous,” he said mildly. “Charming, yes. Ridiculous, only on Tuesdays. Either way, I’ll take it from here,” fists clenched at his side. “You’ve done enough,” His tone was all Ravkan diplomacy and iron beneath. 

“She asked me ,” the man countered. 

“And yet, she’s my guest. I would be remiss in my duties if I didn’t ensure her safety myself.”

There was a moment he thought the stranger might refuse. Instead, he gave a sharp, bitter laugh. “I think she can decide that for herself.”

Nikolai wasn’t sure she was in the right mind space to decide anything right now. However much she had drank, or if she had been given anything else, it clearly had a strong effect on her.

Y/N’s POV -

She could hear what Nikolai was saying but it was dulled, like she was hearing it underwater. But none of that mattered right now. He was here. Nikolai Lantsov, bastard prince, Fjerdan enemy and complete prick, had actually come to save her. 

She had begun to doubt he was going to respect her favor. 

The man had laughed, low and dismissive, claiming she was fine with him. But she felt far from fine. 

Something in the air shifted—Y/N felt it, sharp and taut. People leaving the party had begun to gather around the edges. People waited with the doors to their own carriages open, peering out at the scene. People slowed as the exited the building, wandering into whatever scene was unfolding outside. 

This was going to be whispered around the corridors at Ketterdam University by morning. Even in her fog-addled mind, she prayed to Djel that her father and brothers didn’t hear about this scene. 

“I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt,” Nikolai said quietly, “and assume you didn’t just refuse a prince in front of an audience.”

The man’s jaw worked. His hand shifted toward her wrist but Nikolai moved faster, prying his fingers away with unyielding precision. 

“You’ve had your moment,” Nikolai murmured. “Now it’s over.”

The man swore under his breath, glanced between Y/N and Nikolai and laughed. With a glare in her direction he called her a slut and brushed past Nikolai, making sure to shoulder him on the way back inside. 

For a second, Y/N stayed frozen where she was, the muffled thud of his retreating boots seeming impossibly loud. Her pulse still raced, every muscle tense. 

Then she moved—half-stepping, half-falling forward—straight into Nikolai’s waiting arms. 

Nikolai caught her easily, one hand steady at her back, the other tucking a strand of hair away from her face. 

“There we go,” he said gently, guiding her with far more care than she’d been handled all night. “Let’s get you somewhere quiet.”

She nodded, eyes glassy. Her cheek fell against his shoulder as he reached behind her to reopen the carriage door and help her inside. 

Nikolai’s POV -

He contemplated going to find Seraphina inside and ensure Y/N got home safe, but as she slumped against the carriage seats, eyes half closed, he knew he shouldn’t leave her. So after a moment of hesitation he slipped into the carriage across from her, slid open the little window to the driver and directed him to the building he was staying in. 

The drive passed mostly in silence. But she was looking at him, lips parted with unspoken words.

“Didn’t think I’d come for you? he started for her, low enough for only her to hear. 

She swallowed, her voice almost failing her. “...no.” 

“Then we’ll have to change that,” he leaned back into the seat attempting to emanate calm, but even he knew he was failing. 

“I didn’t mean to…” she whispered, eyes on the floor.

“I know, he said. “You did nothing wrong.”

She shook her head, “I shouldn’t have danced with him.” Eyes still refusing to settle on him. 

“No,” he agreed softly, reaching out and titling her chin so her eyes met his. “You shouldn’t have. But not because of me. Because he didn’t deserve the kindness.”

Her breath caught.

“You looked for me?” He was still astounded that she had gone to him for help when she had made it very clear all semester that he couldn’t be trusted. She had used her favour for helping him pass their Public Opinion and Public Policy class to ensure he came to her aid, rather than save it for some big political ask for Fjerda, like he was sure she would have.

“I always do,” she whispered.

He shouldn’t read into her words. But they do say drunk words are sober thoughts for a reason. 

Still, she was in no mind to be admitting her growing fondness for him. 

They moved through the halls up to his dorm room in silence. He didn’t speak until they reached the door to his suite, tucked away near the end of a quiet corridor. He was still replaying her words from the ride over. She looked for him, purposely. 

He opened the door to the room, guiding her inside and helping her sit on the bed near the window. 

He fetched her some water, ensuring she drank it in its entirety. Then he rose slowly. Her dress was slightly askew, one sleeve slipping down her shoulder. He pulled a blanket from the end of the bed and wrapped it gently around her.

“I’ll stay here,” he said, settling onto the floor beside the bed like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You’re safe.”

She blinked down at him, eyes wide and raw. “You didn’t have to come after me.”

He gave her that familiar crooked smile, but there was no teasing behind it now. Just quiet sincerity. 

“Get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

And he waited until her eyes drifted closed and her breathing even out before he lay his head down on the spare pillow he stole from the bed and also got some sleep.

Chapter Text

Y/N’s POV -

The first thing Y/N registers is the ache in her skull. Then the softness of unfamiliar sheets, the faint scent of sea salt and ink, and the quiet crackle of a candle somewhere close. Her eyes blinked open, slow and heavy.

This isn’t her room.

Panic claws up her throat. 

She sits up too fast. The world tilts. The blanket falls from her shoulders, and she realizes she’s still fully dressed. The emerald green silk clinging to her sweat slicked skin only making her panic more intense. Her shoes had been removed. Her hair was a mess of fallen pins and dried sweat. Her gloves lie folded neatly on a nearby table, along with the candle she had heard. 

Still… this isn’t her room. 

Tears well fast, blurring the corners of the room. The night before coming back in flashes. The gentleman with a devious grin. The wine. The dances that made the room spin and the head throb. She remembers being dizzy, but there are black spots in her mind. Blanks that won’t come back to her and it hurts too much to think about. 

She was led away, the bruise beneath the sleeve of her gown, proof enough of that. A carriage ride. The biting wind. Asking for help.

Nikolai.

Where was he now? Where was she?

The door cracks open. 

Her heart spikes, gripping the blankets to her chest in protection. Her brain runs through every possibility as the door creaks. Her brothers had taught her bits and pieces on how to defend herself, but she was weaponless. But her panic comes to a halt as he enters. Tray in hand, with two cups of steaming tea and a plate of dry toast. 

He freezes mid-step when he sees her wide, tear-glossed eyes and trembling shoulders.

“Y/N?”

She draws the blanket higher, attempting to hide herself. “Where am I?”

His face softens instantly. “My rooms.”

Her breath catches, her voice a bare whisper. “Did we—? Did anything…?”

“No.” He sets the tray down quickly on the side table and sits on the bed by her knees. “Nothing happened, I swear it. I slept on the floor,” he gestures toward the place beside the bed. Rumpled pillow and blanket still laid out as proof. “You were still dizzy. I didn’t want you alone.”

Her breath trembles out of her. A tear escapes, and she brushes it away furiously. “I don’t… I don’t remember everything. I remember the man—and I…” She squeezes her eyes shut, hand going to her forehead in an attempt to quell the pounding sensation left over from the night before. “I thought I used my favor.” 

Nikolai’s lips twitched, but not with amusement this time. “You reminded me that I should’ve helped you anyway.” 

“But—” 

“You still have your favor.” He says it simply, like it’s a fact, not a kindness.

She looks at him properly now. His shirt wrinkled, boots still on from last night. There are dark circles beneath his eyes, and his usually styled hair is a disaster. 

He didn’t sleep much either.

Silence laps between them, warm and tentative.

Then it hits her: the impropriety of the moment. Alone. In his room. In his bed . No guard, no maid, no chaperone.

She bolts to her feet. “I should go.” She scrambles to the side tables picking up her gloves, trying to sooth her hair and collect her belongings in the same motion.

Nikolai, thankfully, doesn’t move to stop her. “Of course. But… tea first?” he gestures to the tray. “It’s the least I can offer before the Princess of Fjerda flees my chambers in horror.”

Despite everything, a tiny breath of laughter escapes her. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you’re still here.”

She gives him a look. Fixing the sleeve of her dress. 

He shrugs, offering her a cup. “It’s not poisoned, I swear.”

She hesitates—then takes the cup, hands brushing. The contact lingers just a second too long. Then she sits back on the bed, next to him. 

Scanning the room as she takes a sip. The room is far more organized than she would have expected from him. The desk is covered in papers and letters, but on top of it is a neat pill of the notes she had been working through with him. Additional markings in a fair script that was not her own, littered the margins of the pages.

“You have been studying,” she says in slight disbelief. 

“Yeah, I was telling the truth when I said I didn’t want to fail,” he meets her gaze.

Conversation came easily after that. He didn’t push her to talk about her drunken mistakes, and she didn’t feel the need to keep thanking him, even if she felt slightly indebted to him this morning. 

Nikolai’s POV -

He hadn’t slept. Not really.

His eyes had closed for a moment here and there, but even carpeted the floor was harsh and unforgiving beneath his pillow. Every flicker through the window or sound of footsteps in the hall beyond his door had dragged him back to consciousness. Each time, he’d look over at the bed just to be sure she was still there, still breathing, still safe. 

Y/N.

She’d been pink-cheeked and lovely when she arrived at the party, wide-eyed in that green dress, startled when he called her beautiful. But it hadn’t been just the wine or the nerves that made her skin flush. She wasn’t used to being seen. Not like that. Not by someone like him.

And he had seen her. All of her.

Which is why, when he returned with a glass of punch and found only empty space where she’d stood, his heart had plummeted straight through his boots.

It had taken him less than ten minutes to find her, and still it had felt like a lifetime. She’d been swaying, her smile too wide, her shoulders too stiff as that bastard of a merchant’s son guided her into the centre of the room like she was something he could purchase. 

He hadn’t even raised his voice. That had surprised both of them, because inside he was fuming.

The walk up to his room, she’d murmured something against his neck as he supported her on the stairs, something about a favor, something about trusting him. 

It gutted him.

She should never have needed a favor just to feel safe. 

Now, he stepped softly around the table, tea tray in hand. Ne nudged the door open with his foot and froze.

She was sitting up. Her eyes were wide, rimmed with tears, lip trembling as she took in the unfamiliar room. Panic sliced through him like a blade. 

“Y/N?”

Her voice was barely a breath. “Where am I?”

“My rooms,” he said, meaning the words to be reassuring. He set the tray down with great care, as if moving slowly would undo the fear tightening her whole frame.

It was in fact the opposite of reassuring, as her eyes searched the room, darting to the blankets clenched in her fists and the unoccupied spot beside her, before drifting back to him.

“Did we—?”

“No,” he said quickly, firmly. “Nothing happened. You’re safe. You were dizzy. I didn’t want to leave you alone.”

He sat on the bed, close enough to provide comfort, yet far enough away as if to convey respect. Keeping his voice soft he added, “I slept on the floor.” Attempting to ease the tension from her shoulders. “You tried to convince me it was your royal favor, but… you just reminded me I should’ve helped anyway.”

She stared at him for a beat, then another, before tears rolled down her cheeks. She wiped at them hastily, already trying to recover. 

“It’s alright,” he said, almost more to himself than to her. “You’re alright.”

But then she shifted, as the rest of it seemed to click into place. Alone. In his rooms. Morning light on her face, her hair undone. No maid. No witness. No excuse.

“I should go,” she said, already on her feet. “I shouldn’t be here.”

His chest squeezed, but he didn’t stop her. “Of course.” He couldn’t, not after everything that has happened. So he watched her find her shoes and her gloves where he had folded them beside the tea tray. “But—tea first?”

She hesitated.

He moved to offer her a cup. “It’s not poisoned."

Her lip twitched—just enough to make his own curl in return.

She took the cup. 

They sat side by side on the bed. The silence between them is more intimate than any words. He remained at a distance. He didn’t press. He just watched the steam curl from her tea, the way her lashes dipped low with every blink. 

He wanted to say, I would never let anything happen to you . 

But that would make it worse. Because something almost had and it had taken a favor to stop it. 

So he simply sat there. Quiet. Present. Steady. Until her gaze settled on his desk on the far side of the room by the door.

Chapter Text

Once exams passed, so did the excuses. The second semester fled by faster than the first.

Without classes together their hours of studying together disappeared as quickly as they had come. With no tutoring to bind them, Y/N stopped visiting the west wing. The library no longer felt like neutral ground. Nikolai left a week later aboard a ship bound for the northern coast. She returned home to Djerholm, and the days stretched on.

Neither wrote. They came from opposing countries, it wasn’t right. They weren’t friends, it was improper for them to have spent as much time together as they did. 

Y/N knew that if anyone found out she had helped the Ravkan Prince with his studies. Spent hours alone with him in the study. Or Djel forbid that she slept in his bed, she would never be allowed back for second year. 

Y/N had spent the summer months trying to find time to continue her studies between etiquette lessons and stolen conversations with her brothers. They had been busy with advisors and strategy meetings, so every moment she wasn’t a shadow to public events and state dinners was a blessing. 

By the time autumn returned and the university filled once more with scholars and diplomates in the making, ready for the new academic term, the temperature had dropped far beyond the crisp chill of the changing seasons.

Fjerda and Ravka were at war once more. Y/N L/N and Nikolai Lantsov were enemies once more.

Y/N’s POV -

The bells rang high above the courtyard, signaling the formal procession of returning dignitaries and scholars into the academic gates. Y/N stood off to the side of the gathering crowd, hands folded neatly, chin lifted. Students were still arriving just off boats from all over the the True Sea. The next set of first years wandered the university district looking lost or confused. Standing apart from people, but looking hopefully around for someone else to talk to. Y/N still felt that way as she stood aside and waited for someone she knew to walk through the crowd.

Fina rushed to her, shouting her name excitedly. 

“I’ve missed you so much!” Y/N cried, embracing her friend. She hadn’t realized until she left Kerch how isolating Fjerda could be. 

She used to talk to her brothers when she was younger or a maid. But she wasn’t permitted to speak of people outside the Ice Court, or men outside the family. Fina was everything she had been taught was wrong with women. But if she told that to her, Seraphina would smile, laugh with her head back, and take it as a compliment. She was free in a way Y/N never knew possible. 

“This place is not the same without you,” Fina started. She had stayed in Kerch for the summer, citing it was too expensive to travel back and forth to Novyi Zem every year. “Anyway, I met this cute barista at a shop near second harbor. She makes the best oat lattes.” Her eyes lite up as she spoke.

A girl with fiery red hair and big green eyes that you could see the forest in. She was sweet, and ambitious. “An art major here, can you believe it! I’ve gone to school with this girl and I never got the chance to met her.”

Y/N smiled as her friend spoke.

“I’ve convinced her to take Propaganda and Visual Culture with us this year. It’s… art adjacent anyway.” 

The two friends walked to their first class together, where Anna met up with them. The girl with fiery red hair and a skirt to match. She wore an oversized wool coat to fight off the cold autumn wind. 

“Anna this is Y/N. Y/N, Anna,” Fina elbowed Y/N whispering “see?” in the hope her friend approved. 

The two were cute together. Sitting side by side on the steps to the Beleid building, Anna told a story about an annoying customer at her coffee shop job, hands moving animatedly with each word. 

Fina sat there wrapped up in the details and the sound of Anna’s voice. They laughed over shared jokes that Y/N didn’t understand. She was happy for her friend, really she was. But it did make it harder for Y/N to be alone. 

Don’t look for him, she told herself.

She absolutely wasn’t watching for the golden-haired boy stepping down from a Ravkan ship with a grin on his face and sea wind in his coat. 

But it still happened, as they sat by the stairs of the politics building, Y/N, Fina, and Anna comparing schedules and sharing stories from their time away, when a carriage pulled up. The carriage door opened and Prince Nikolai Lantsov descended, she felt it anyway, without even looking… that pull . That unwanted, unhelpful, unkind tug at her chest that said she’d missed him.

He looked tan. Taller, maybe. His coat was blue, military-cut, trimmed in golden threads, and when his eyes swept the courtyard, he spotted her instantly. 

A pause.

Then the same smirk he wore like a weapon.

He offered a curt bow, shallow and mocking, while he passed them, then ducked through the doorway into the Beleid building. 

Fina leaned in. “Well, that was icy.”

Y/N's voice was cool. “He thrives in cold water, doesn’t he?

She still, unwillingly, followed him into class. A second year of classes side by side. Her goal remained the same. Study, pass, prove she could do it. That she deserved that chance. Meanwhile, he took few notes, turned in assignments late (if ever), and still he held more political power on the world stage then she ever would.

As unfair as it was, she loathed him for it.

Nikolai’s POV -

She hadn’t looked at him once. Not during the walk. Not during the first lecture. Not when their names were called side by side on the class register. 

She sat two seats away, scribbling notes with unnecessary precision, posture straight as a saber. 

He should have expected it. 

The warmth of spring, library whispers, shared quills, encouragement whispered across crowded tables, was over. Left behind with shared study sessions and that damn favor she never called in.

Besides, things were worse now. Fjerda’s pressure on the northern border had doubled. His father had demanded a statement from her court. Nothing had come. 

So they were enemies again.

And yet, when the instructor asked a question, and Y/N raised her hand, Nikolai’s stupid heart lifted in his chest like a flag in the wind.

He slouched in his chair. “Still trying to impress me, Princess?”

She didn’t look at him, but her voice was as sharp as a dagger. “No need. I already did. And you failed your test.”

Damn.

He smirked anyway. “Then I hope I at least made your summer unforgettable.” 

She turned just slightly. Just enough for him to see the frost in her gaze. 

“Oh, you did,” she said, like it was personally his fault their countries were at war, and it hurt more than he expected. 

Chapter Text

Y/N’s POV -

Debates in International Politics was a class she had been looking forward to. Professor Vasnik was known for being strict but his methods yielded results. If she passed his class, maybe she could prove to her father that she deserved a place at the table. Especially in a time of war, they needed more strategists and diplomats. She could do more with her life than marry for political power, and here was her chance to prove it. 

Right before classes ended for the first week, he introduced their final projects. A challenge they will be building to all semester. A debate in pairs about an issue in international politics. 

“For the end of year’s Peace Conference Simulation,” Professor  Vasnik explained. “Each pair will represent opposing nations. I expect structured arguments, composed rebuttals, and mutual diplomacy.” 

Shouldn’t be too hard , she thought. She had been raised in this, after all. 

“Which will be… an interesting challenge for Miss L/N and Prince Nikolai.” He turned to face the students, having finished scribbling the project details on the board in rough chalk lines. 

Murmurs buzzed through the rows of students. Quills froze over papers as people turned in the seats to catch a glance of the two royals. 

Y/N’s spine stiffened. 

Nikolai grinned, one eyebrow raised in theatrical amusement. 

Vasnik continued. “I will be positing the rest of the pairings on the door to the classroom by the start of next week. I expect you all to prepare your statements in private. But I suggest you actually work together if you don’t want to be humiliated in front of our judges.”

Y/N gave a tight nod and returned to her notes. 

Nikolai gave a mock bow, hand to chest as he passed her at the end of class. “Alwyas a pleasure to be at your mercy, Princess.”

Her cheeks flushed pink at his words, betraying her. 

This wasn’t going to go well…

She stayed after class to speak to the professor. 

“Yes, Miss L/N?”

There it was again, Vasnik refused to address her properly. It didn’t typically annoy her as much as it did right now, if anything it normally made her feel like she fit in with her fellow classmates, but Vasnik addressed Nikolai with his honourific, why not hers?

Brushing past it she carried on. “I think there has been a mistake. Lantsov and I—”

“Are you questioning my decision to pair you two up?”

She shook her head admittedly. Never speak out of turn .

“Is there a reason you and his highness can’t work together?” 

“It’s just…” she chose her words carefully. “With the tensions between Ravka and my home, it just seems unwise…?”

“That is exactly why I believe this is a good debate to have. Be respectful in your arguments, attempt to come to a compromise for both countries. You both have real experience in this. I believe it could be a good chance for your classmates to learn a thing or two about how diplomacy is done in the real world,” he explained calmly.

Y/N felt almost embarrassed for bringing it up. Like a child tattling on a sibling. She could work with Lantsov. Of course, she could. She had spent hours last year helping him prepare for his exams. 

But we didn’t have men dying for us then , said a small voice in the back of her mind. 

“Thank you, professor,” she nodded and turned to the door. 

“When you leave this classroom,” his voice made her pause, hand already outstretched for the door handle. “You cannot choose who you work with. Usually it will be uncomfortable, even hostile. Please learn to work together before it becomes the rest of the world’s problem.” 

She slipped out the door. She needed to find… 

Fina. 

While looking for Fina she found Nikolai. He was laughing with a small group in the corridor outside a philosophy class. 

She caught him just before he could disappear around the corner. A mistake.

“Please try to take this debate seriously for once, Lantsov.”

He turned slowly, his smile instant. “Oh, but I am. I’m taking it so seriously that I’m planning to win and get you to admit I was right.”

She rolled her eyes. “You never think you’re wrong. Typical Ravkan.”

He stepped closer. Not too close, but close enough she noticed.

“And you never think you’re charming.” He titled his head. “And yet, here we both are. Hopelessly misinformed.”

Y/N exhaled, exasperated. “Djel, I should’ve begged Vasnik to assign me to someone else.” She turned on her heels and walked away from him.

“You wound me,” he clutched his chest in mock-offence, making those around him laugh. “Is this how peace is forged between nations?” he called after her retreating form.

Tune him out. Don’t let it affect you.

“with cruel jabs and slander?” 

She snapped. Turning back to face him. “You would know, wouldn't you, moi tsarevich.” Her pronunciation of the Ravkan title was poorly accented but it got the point across. 

Nikolai’s POV -

He watched her go, lips still curved in a grin. 

Of course, she had to insult him in the hall. That was rule one with Y/N L/N: don’t let Nikolai win the last word . Except she never seemed to realize that every insult was just another opportunity for him. 

He wasn’t trying to be cruel. Honestly, he respected her. More than most people in this place did. She could slice him open with a look, which was frankly unfair when she also looked that good doing it.

But that comment? That fire in her voice, when she dipped into a curtsy and used his title like a childish nickname. 

It made him want to lose the debate on purpose, just to hear what she’d say when she won.

Still, he wouldn’t. Because losing wasn’t really in his nature. Especially not when it came to her. 

Y/N’s POV -

Y/N dropped into an armchair beside Fina in the student lounge, letting her satchel slide to the floor with a dull thud. 

“That bad?” Fina asked, not looking up from the book in her lap. 

She had taken up half the coffee table and the remainder of the couch she sat on, with notes, books open to a variety of pages about politics in Ravka. Sticky notes in a wide array of colours marking the pages, as she prepared for her own debate. 

Y/N let out a sharp laugh. “Bad doesn’t even begin to cover it. He refuses to work with me. I swear, if he says 'we'll be fine’ one more time, I’m going to throw something,” she says, glaring at the table as if it were responsible for her misery.

“He doesn’t want to prepare. At all. Says he ‘thrives under pressure,’ that debates are ‘about energy, not facts.’” She made an exaggerated face at the words. “Meanwhile, I’m the one who’s going to be standing next to him when he decides to improvise out entire argument out of thin air.”

“Well, he has grown up doing this. Plus, you both are talking about your own countries. Maybe he’ll be good at improvising.” Fina tried.

“Who’s side are you on?” Y/N smiled, misery subsiding slightly. “Plus, that’s not the point. I don’t want to work with him either, but at least I know we might actually need to do some work in order to back our arguments. He just wants to coast, and I’m supposed to nod along like that’s a brilliant strategy.”

Fina sipped her tea, unimpressed. “You sound stressed.”

“I am stressed,” she said flatly. “And if he keeps avoiding any potential planning sessions, he’s going to make us both look like fools up there. No— I’m going to look like a food, because he’ll still be the charming prince and I’ll be the one who can’t keep up.”

She sat forward suddenly, eyes narrowing on a page of an open textbook before her. Picking it up she read through the section on power division in the Ravkan military. “You’re debating for Ravka in your match, right?”

“...yes,” Fina said slowly. “Why?”

“Because if you can argue my side in your match, you’ll hear exactly what he says about it. And maybe, just maybe, you can nudge him into thinking we should coordinate before the finals.”

Fina stared at her. “You want me to… spy for you?”

“No! Spy is such an ugly word. I want you to observe,” she corrected primly. “And subtly encourage him that he needs me.”

“Subtly encourage a man who thinks the word ‘plan’ is a challenge? This will not work.”

Y/N gave her a tight smile. “Has that ever stopped you before?”

Fina sighed. “No, and that’s the problem.”

Chapter Text

Nikolai’s POV -

It was mid-afternoon when the knock came. Nikolai looked up from the papers on his desk—maps, lists, casualty reports—and called, “enter,” half-expecting some messenger bearing another dreary update from the front. 

Instead, Seraphina Calder slipped into the room. She was carrying a satchel slung carelessly over one shoulder and a bundle of notes in her hand.

A distraction, thank the saints . He filed away the report he was working on, turning in his chair to face her. “To what do I own this pleasure? Please tell me it’s not another lecture on the proper coffee brewing methods. The last one nearly scarred me for life.” 

Fina rolled her eyes but smirked. “No, not this time. But I am still right, you do it weirdly, it’s like you're making tea…” she paused before they had this argument again. “I need a second opinion.”

“Oh?” he gestured for her to sit. “If you’re asking whether the sea is blue or whether the sun will rise tomorrow, I can save us both some time.”

“It’s about the Ravkan military,” she said. His eyes wandered back to the document he had just been reading and swallowed the lump in his throat. 

Oblivious to his internal struggle, she dropped her satchel onto the floor and began spreading her notes on the table. “I’m in the middle of preparing for the debate, and I want to make sure I’m not missing something important about your country’s… capabilities.”

Nikolai leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Capabilities. Such a polite way of saying flaws.”

“Would you prefer I call them weaknesses to your face?”

“I’d prefer you call them charming eccentricities,” he replied, taking one of the sheets from her. The handwriting was sharp and quick, much like the girl herself. She’d bullet-pointed everything from troop distribution to naval capacity, clearly having done her homework. “Not bad,” he murmured, scanning her points. “But you’re overestimating our northern regiments. They’re better equipped than the southern garrisons, but they’re scattered thin.”

Fina scribbled it down without hesitation. 

But he hesitated, only for a second. He watched her for a second. She was so unassuming. Dark braided hair, falling across her shoulder. Hairs freed from the braid by the wind, no doubt on her walk across campus to meet with him. She sat hunched over a notebook on her lap, taking not of what he said. 

He read on, replacing doubt with facts. He paused on a point, tapping a line under naval operations. “And you’ve underestimated our fleet. That one’s personal, so I have to take offense on principle.” 

“Which principle?” she asked, looking up from her notes.

“The principle that a fleet should never be underestimated,” he said solemnly.

He continued down the page on the Ravkan navy. Most of it outdated or common knowledge, taken from old textbooks and dusty scrolls, there was no need to change any of that information so inconsequential. But one point caught his attention. 

A number of ships, both fleeing Ravka’s crest and nondescript merchant vessels still assumed to work for the crown, were listed. The number was scarily specific… and too close to the truth.

In the margarine beside that particular point is another note in a different font, lighter with looping letters. It mentioned a privateer ship, running errands out of Ravkan ports. His ship . 

“Where did you get this number?” he asks, attempting to keep his voice light and conversational. 

“I…” she glanced at the note he was pointing at. “I guess it must have been from a textbook somewhere?” 

He knew she was lying, and the sheepish look she returned meant she knew she had been caught. 

“Fine, Y/N gave it to me.”

“Is she seriously having her father help her with petty projects?” he laughed. 

“No,” Fina defended her friend. “Your damned country just doesn’t update public ledgers.”

He had to give that to her. Ravka wasn’t known for updating documentation, another downfall of the power struggle between the Tsar, General Kirigan, and the Apparat. 

The tense moment dissolved rather quickly, as she handed him another sheet. 

“I perhaps, that this is going to be very outdated. I found it in a tome I pulled out of a literal spider wed.” 

They went on like that for a while. Her pitching observations and outlining her arguments, him poking holes in them, occasionally tossing in some self-deprecating commentary about Ravka’s leadership (carefully avoiding implicating himself). He found himself almost enjoying the exchange. 

Fina was sharp, unflinching, and quick enough to volley his banter back without losing her footing. 

It wasn’t until she asked her third overly specific question about northern border troop morale that something began to itch in the back of his mind. 

He had been right to doubt her originally .

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re remarkably well-versed in Ravkan military deployment for someone who’s not speaking on the subject.”

Fina didn’t flinch. “It’s called research.” The corner of her lip twitched into the beginnings of a smile, like she wanted him to challenge her. 

“It’s called obsession,” he countered lightly. “Or maybe—” He tilted his head. “It’s called working for someone who’s too stubborn to ask me directly.”

Her pen paused mid-sentence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, you do,” he said with an easy grin, placing the page he had been reading back into the messy pile of notes on the desk before them. “Let me guess. Y/N sends her best friend to casually get a read on my positions for the debate, so she doesn’t have to suffer through my allegedly infuriating personality herself.”

Fina’s lips twitched. “There's nothing alleged about it.”

“Touché,” He smirked, before returning to the subject at hand. “Or… you are here not for my notes but for whatever information I slip up and share. How much of this is going back to her? How much is going to Fjerda?”

How could I be so stupid . It was a brilliant poly, he had to give her that. 

Fina began collecting her notes. “I knew it was a dumb idea. Really we both knew it wasn’t going to work, but I didn't think you’d accuse her of spying for her father.” She glared at him as she tried to shove her notes into the pages of her notebook without bending them. “Listen, she gets a hard enough time just attending classes. They don’t know you are here, she made sure of it. One mention of Ravkan princes and she’ll be pulled from the program!” 

Then she froze, hand hovering just above her satchel, realizing she said too much. 

“Please,” she begged. “Do not use that against her. This is all she has.”

“Sad, but I won’t inform anyone of my presence in Kerch, don’t worry. I’m here to disappear too, after all.”

He plucked one of the loose sheets of carefully organized notes from between notebook pages and returned to his reading. 

“...what are you doing?” Fina questioned, but returned to her seat, notebook still in her lap, preparing to be dismissed. 

“Here I had thought you’d just remembered how dashing I looked at the party,” he joked, between skimming lines on trope movements that would have been more accurate, this morning. Before he read the incident report still filed away just inches away on the very same desk. 

“That was months ago, Lantsov, and I’m not sure dashing is the word I’d use.”

“Devilishly handsome? Devastatingly clever?” 

“Annoyingly smug,” she said, fixing the pages she had gathered up so harshly mere seconds ago. 

He didn’t mind that she’d been sent. In fact, the realization made him more amused than anything else. It was so very Y/N. refusing to admit she needed him for something while going to great lengths to ensure she didn’t walk into that debate blind. 

Still, he wasn’t going to hand over his own strategies on a silver platter. Oh no. Y/N could work for it if she wanted them.

He sat back, deliberately shifting the conversation back toward broader, more neutral topics like naval history, supply chain theory, and the merits of lighter cavalry armor. All while keeping anything directly related to his upcoming arguments—or the current state of Ravka—locked up tight.

If Fina noticed, she didn’t say, but when she packed up her notes for the second time, he caught the faintest flicker of something in her expression. The subtle acknowledgement that she’d gotten some of what she came for, but not all.

“Thank you for the help. Seriously.” She nodded from the doorway. “My project will be stronger for it. Even if you refuse to say anything to help your own project.”

As she turned the handle, he called after her. “Do tell her highness I said hello. Or don’t. I like imagining the look on her face when she finds out I knew.”

Fina shook her head, opening the door. “You’re impossible.”

“I prefer resourceful.”

She laughed as she closed the door behind her and she was gone. Nikolai leaned back in his chair, still smiling faintly as he returned to his reports, but the words were no longer registering. His mind was occupied with thoughts of the debate. 

Let Y/N plot and maneuver all she liked , He told himself. It would only make beating her in the debate all the more satisfying.

Chapter Text

Nikolai’s POV - 

The debate approached a lot faster after having helped Fina. He realized that day how much preparation other students were putting into this, maybe he shouldn’t arrive in class empty handed after all. 

The morning of the debate he spotted her across the marble hallway, shoulders squared and braid swinging behind her like a warning flag. Princess Y/N L.N of Fjerda looked as though she were preparing for war. 

Which, he supposed, she was.

He fell into step beside her with his usual swagger, hands in his pockets, and an easy smile. 

“Princess,” he greeted with faux innocence. “Ready to debate me into submission?”

She didn’t look at him. “Not in the mood, Lantsov.”

“That’s a shame. I even rehearsed an apology.” She didn’t answer his teasing, so he continued. “Though, really, I think it is I who deserves the apology this time.”

That earned him a glance. Brief, Distrustful. 

“I owe you an apology?” she asked, slipping into her usual seat. Second row, third spot in. 

He obviously sat down beside her. “Yes.” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “For sending in spies.” 

Y/N unfolded her papers from the bag she laid by her feet. She was extra careful not to let him see the contents of the pages. “Then, I’m sorry. Really Nikolai…” She paused and he realized that was the first time she had ever used his first name. “I’m sorry, but you left me no other choice. I stand by my actions.” 

Her glare bit like a harsh winter storm. “Now, you said you owed me an apology?” Her voice was honeyed despite the fire in her eyes. 

He was left speechless. Nikolai Lantsov was rarely ever speechless. But his mind kept replaying the way she had said his name. Her voice delicate around each syllable, taking her time with it. Only to use it to ridicule him. Then she still expected him to apologize…

“Let me guess,” she muttered, smiling at Fina as she entered the room before returning her glare at him. “You wrote this supposed apology on the back of a wine bottle?” 

He winced. “Ouch. No, I actually meant it. About the past few weeks. About not listening. You were right, we probably should have prepared together.” 

She stood, slinging her bag back over one shoulder. Fina had sat on the opposite side in the front row. She clearly intended to join her. “No, you should have prepared,” she looked over at him, assessing. Judging. 

“Oh! I actually did,” he pulled the small envelope from his pocket.  

She looked over the envelope—barely more than a paper’s width—then back to his face, like he was plotting something. “Well. I wish you luck Lantsov, you might need it.” 

Before he could reply, she took off down the aisle toward Fina’s seat, boots clicking as she went.

He sat there a beat longer, then let his mouth twist into a grin. It wasn’t a real smile, but the kind he wore like armor. 

“Well then,” he said to no one in particular, “if I’m going to lose with dignity, might as well make it interesting.

Y/N’s POV -

“Y/N L/N and Nikolai Lantsov, please take the stage,” Professor Vasnik called as the previous pair returned to their seats after a rough debate on grain surplus in Novyi Zem and the food trade in Kerch. 

The room buzzed with anticipation. Everyone knew what this was. Not just a mock political debate, not a lesson in diplomacy. It was a showdown. Ravka’s infamous prince versus Fjerda’s ice-eyed prodigy. Two nations, two tempers, one stage. 

Y/N took her position behind the first podium, spine straight, eyes already scanning her notes. No smiles. Not banter. When Nikolai stopped across from her, she didn’t even look up. 

He placed his envelope on the podium in front of him. But retrieved no notes from it. He just smiled at her when she made the unfortunate decision to glance up.

Their professor gave a short introduction, but the class barely listened. All eyes were on the combatants. 

“Let’s begin,” Vasnik said. “The topic: military de-escalation between hostile nations.”

Y/N started, calm and sharp. Her voice cut like the winter wind clear and crisp. 

“The problem lies not only in deployment but in perception. Fjerda sees Ravka’s Grisha forces as unnatural, and Ravka sees Fjerda’s countermeasures as cruel. De-escalation must start with education programs on both sides and joint border inspections. Transparency removes fear.”

Murmurs of approval resonated from the crowd. But even as she said the words she knew she was being idealistic. She didn’t look at Nikolai. Not yet.

He leaned back from his podium, gesturing lazily as he began his reply. 

“A lovely suggestion, L/N, and certainly very… noble. But while we’re launching education initiatives, Ravka might want to consider building bunkers,” he was playing it up for the crowd, thriving off of their attention. “Because if memory serves, the last Fjerdan ‘inspection’ ended in—ah, yes—Grisha blood on snow.”

Then he leaned forward again, lowering her voice so only she and maybe the front row of the class could hear. “I’m impressed you made it through that without calling them witches.”

She stiffened. He’s trying to get a rise out of you. Don’t give in.

“I suppose diplomacy is difficult when your country’s army treats science like a disease,” he added, voice still light but loud enough for all to hear again. 

Her jaw set, of course he was going to continue with Girsha. Either she will be forced to defend Fjerda's position on the matter and offend some of the class, or go against it and lose the debate.  

“And whose fault is that, I wonder? Ravka has a history of chaos, of summoners and monsters they cannot control. It is hardly science. You destabilize the region and then ask for our trust?”

“You say that like Fjerda has never unleashed a monster of its own. I hear your drüskelle are still hunting Grisha for sport.”

A stir in the room. 

“Out policies are defensive, not predatory. Unlike Ravka, we do not conscript—” she looked eyes with Fina in the front row, what was it the Zemini called them? “Our gifted citizens into war machines.”

That one earned some impressed hums. 

Now he smiled. “Touché. But in Fjerda, you just imprison them instead.”

“Prince Lantsov,” Vasnik said coolly. “Let’s refrain from personal barbs.”

Snickers echoed across the classroom, but Y/N leaned in then, fire in her eyes. 

“You want real peace, Lantsov? Remove the Grisha border checkpoints, allow Fjerda to establish diplomatic embassies, and start economic agreements that tie our survival together. You want Ravka to stop bleeding? Make it too costly to go to war again.”

The professor actually raised an eyebrow. Nikolai opened his mouth, only to close it again.

She was good. Very good. 

So naturally, he did the worst thing imaginable. 

“Brilliant,” he said with a lazy grin. “Truly. Intelligent, passionate, ruthless. What a wife you’d make.”

The room when still. The silence was deafening. 

She stared at him, eyes wide. His words were so eerily similar to something her father had said before she left for second year. 

“What a good wife you would have made.”

Niklolai gestured with a hand, as if finishing a toast. “In fact, I’d like to formally propose a path to peace. A marriage alliance. Between Ravka and Fjerda. Between, say, two young, ambitious visionaries. Myself and Princess L/N.”

Laughter broke out. Some students outright cheered. Others gawked in disbelief. 

Y/N looked at Fina in the front row. I’m sorry , she mouthed to Y/N, a small comfort. Even the professor looked stunned from his side of the room.

Y/N felt heat rise like a tide wave up her neck, to her ears, to her face as Nikolai pulled the envelope off the podium with a flourish. Inside it he produced a small sapphire ring. 

She was quiet for the first time since she’d stepped up to the dais. Her fingers tightened on the podium. She glanced at Professor Vasnik, clearly expecting a reprimand.

“Hope you like it,” he whispered, getting down on one knee. Really milking the attention he was receiving for this stunt.

“Marriage alliances are bandages, not treaties. You do not build peace with a wedding ring, you build it with policy,” she seethed between clenched teeth. Watching her future flash before her. 

Why am I here? She asked herself. All this schooling was building towards… what exactly? A wedding ring from some Fjerdan noble if she was lucky. From the man on his knee before her if she was not. 

Students continued to laugh, but it didn’t stop her. 

“And if your only contribution to this debate is a half-drunk proposal, then I’m not surprised your country is still at war with itself.”

The laughter stopped. 

Nikolai’s smile faltered just a fraction.

The professor coughed. “Enough. Thank you, both. Debate concluded.” 

Nikolai stood, “you really aren’t going to say yes, Princess?”

The professor nodded once as Y/N and Nikolai returned to their seats on opposite ends of the classroom. “While that wasn’t necessarily what I hoped would be learned from this debate, I must award Princess L/N for her use of strategy and actual diplomatic resolution.”

Applause followed, but Y/N didn’t care. 

She didn’t look at Nikolai. Her cheeks are still pink, her spine straight. He’d humiliated her. 

The worst part? She found herself smiling at the absurdity of everything that had just transpired. Unsure what had been real and what had just been part of the performance.

Chapter Text

Y/N’s POV  -

He’s late.  Of course he’s late. Y/N tells herself she isn’t watching the door. She’s simply bored of the current debate. Another pair is fumbling through their points on trade restrictions between Shu Han and Ravka, and the professor is barely hiding his disappointment. 

That is the only reason she is looking at the door. Waiting till she can leave. But that excuse only works for so long. 

Technically, she shouldn’t be looking for him. He humiliated her, on purpose. In front of all their peers. In front of the professor she is trying so hard to impress… and all for what? Lantsov to ruin it like always. 

He did make some good points , she rationalized. He was right that Fjerdan measures may be a little… excessive when it came to deal with Grisha. She had been a little idealistic at the start and in a weird, roundabout way, he had pushed her to propose better terms. 

Then the door opens.

Nikolai Lantsov saunters in with his usual lazy confidence, one hand tucked into his coat pocket, the other twirling a pen. His golden hair is still windblown, as if the very idea of punctuality had personally offended him this morning. He surveys the room, smirks like he owns it, and scans the seats. 

That’s when it happens. Without thinking, absolutely without thinking, Y/N shifts her book to the side and lightly pats the empty seat beside her. 

An invitation. A truce. 

It was worth it just to see him freeze for the briefest second. Not because he expected civility, let alone… that. But then he grins, slow and wide, like a cat who’s been offered the front door. 

He walks over with a mock-serious air and slides into the seat next to her. 

“Careful, L/N,” he murmurs just loud enough for her to hear, even when she keeps her eyes focused on the debaters. “People might start thinking we’re on speaking terms.”

She doesn’t look at him. Refuses to, else his smile might get to her. “You’re late.”

“You saved me a seat.”

“I didn’t save you anything. It was empty, and I was trying to be civil… after yesterday”

“Oh, yes. So is this to make amends for insulting everything my country believes in? Or for ignoring my proposal?”

“I didn’t ignore it,” she said coldly. She hoped it was very clear to him that there was no way that trick was ever going to work.

“Right. Its just that I don’t remember you ever saying no?” He said with the same smug arrogance that he normally spoke to her with, when he was relying on her help that is. “If you need more time, I am willing to wait.”

She sighs, eyes still fixed on the front of the room. But there’s a subtle twitch at the corner of her lips. He leans just a little closer, smelling of wind and ink and whatever expensive soap he uses. 

“I should warn you,” he says, voice a whisper, “I am easily encouraged. One seat today and I might start expecting tea tomorrow.”

She turned towards him, only to realize how close they were to one another, but she didn’t move away. “Delusional as ever.”

Despite yesterday’s public embarrassment and despite the cutting edge of her debate rebuttals, Nikolai doesn’t tease her further. 

He just… stays. Quiet. Present. Closer than any rules allow. As if for the first time, he ins’t trying to win. Just be near her. 

“Thank you Andries and Enna,” Professor Vasnik's voice cut through the tension. Y/N and Nikolai turned back to the front of the room and clapped for their fellow students, having just completed their debate. 

One more debate to go… then she didn’t have to see Nikolai again until next term. He’d be going back to Ravka for winter break and she would be here.

Nikolai’s POV -

He hadn’t expected her to linger after class. Most students were already packing up for winter break, buzzing with the kind of light, relieved energy that came only after surviving another term. Snow had begun to stick to the cobblestones outside and Ketterdam’s icy wind whistled through the cracks in the academy’s stone walls. Still, there she was, Y/N L/N, the sharpest tongue in their class and the only one he still bothered trading barbs with. She was moving a little slower than usual, rearranging her books like she was stalling. 

Nikolai slung his satchel over his shoulder and leaned against the doorframe, waiting for her. “Let me guess. You’re finally going to admit you’ll miss me.”

She didn’t even look up, brushing past him quickly. “You do realize some people can function without being the centre of attention, don’t you?”

She slowed her pace, allowing him to fall into step beside her. So the peace continued. What had he done to deserve this?

“I’ve heard rumors,” he said with a grin. “But I’ve yet to see it proven.”

She huffed, but didn’t bother returning the jab. That was the first clue something was off. 

He sobered a little, watching her carefully. She was acting normally, aside from the fact she seemed to be tolerating him. She clenched her books tightly to her chest as she walked, shoulders tense.

“Heading home for the break?” he asked when she caught him staring.

Y/N hesitated before answering. “No.”

That single word made something sit wrong in his chest. “Really?” he asked gently now. “I thought you said something about pepper cookies in the winter and forcing your brothers into midnight card games.”

She glared at him now, “I told that to Fina.”

“Sure,” he said dismissively, it didn’t matter who she told the information to. What mattered was that it was true. “Or you know that regular Fjerdan traditions like making wreaths of ash and silver and hunting down Grisha for sport.”

She let out a small breath, but didn’t respond. 

“Then what—”

“It’s too dangerous.” She stopped abruptly. “Fjerda doesn’t want to risk sending a ship. The waters between are tense and—well. You know.” 

He did know. The war wasn’t just politics and parchment anymore. It was blockades, fires at sea, and whispers of Grisha executions. It was Ravka and Fjerda clawing at each other while their children sat in Kerch, pretending neutrality was possible in classrooms.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and for once he meant it without even a trace of irony.

When the war had started he had wanted to return to Ravka, to help in any—every—possible way but was told to stay put. For him it had been torturous to sit in a classroom day after day playing at politics when he could actually be using these skills. He’d never thought about her. Y/N was in the same position, but she’d never be given the chance to fight for her people, let alone forge treaties from within her palace. 

She shrugged like it didn’t matter. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a few weeks.”

“You’ll be alone here?”

Y/N finally began walking again, arms crossed over her book, like she was preparing for a fight. “Yes, and if you make a joke about it, I will ensure the whole Fjerdan military knows which ship you board tomorrow.”

But he didn’t mock. Instead, his expression shifted into something rare. Ungraded. 

“Dually noted,” he nodded, as an idea formed. “They won’t particularly care about my ship. I sail her myself. Not quite the royal navy, but fast enough. If you want, I could take you home.”

She blinked. “What?” 

The exited the building into the court yard, the cold chill in the air nipping through the layers of his coat. He pulled her along beside him around the side of the building, blocking out the harsh wind. His plan cemented with each step.

“I’m serious. I know the routes, and no Ravkan flag. We won't be stopped, and I’ve got a trustworthy crew.” He tried for a smile, tentative. “Besides, you’ll be miserable here without me.”

She narrowed her eyes, leaning back into the brick building, as if measuring the sincerity of his offer. “Why would you help me?”

The silence stretched. A dozen answers sparked in his mind. Witty ones, diplomatic ones, ones that would keep this all pleasantly superficial. Instead he said, "because you miss home. Because I know what it feels like to be far from it. And because… I think I’d rather sail north with you than spend another holiday being paraded through dinners in Os Alta pretending I’m someone I’m not.”

That quieted her. She stared at him for a long moment, something unreadable in her gaze. She took a step forward into his space. “You’re serious?” she asked softly. 

“I am,” he said automatically. She was standing so close and her presence, the heat radiating off her grounded him in the Ketterdam winds. 

As if realizing all at once that this was probably the stupidest plan yet, he began to speak again. “But no pressure. If you’d rather stay—”

“I didn’t say no.”

His lips curved upward. “Is that a yes then?”

“I didn’t say that either.” But she was smiling, just faintly and for Nikolai, that was enough.

Chapter Text

Y/N’s POV -

The wind off the harbor was sharp and briny, tugging at Y/N’s braid as she followed Nikolai through the misty alleys of Ketterdam’s lower docks. They were far from the polished stone of the university district now. Here, it smelled like fish, smoke, and salt. The kind of place where Ravkan and Fjerdan blood mixed indiscriminately in the gutters. 

She tried not to show it, but her heart was beating faster with every step. What was she doing?

“You’re quiet,” Nikolai said without turning around, hands in his pockets, shoulders loose in that irritatingly confident way he always carried himself. 

“I’m reconsidering all my life choices.” 

“That’s fair.” He glanced back at her with a grin. “Before we get to the ship, there’s something you should know.”

Y/N stopped walking, but only momentarily as he continued on this path. She was not being left behind here , she thought as a rat scurried by from a nearby alley. She hurried her steps to walk beside him now. 

“If this is where you tell me you’re smuggling chickens or secretly married, I swear—”

“Only to the sea,” he said grinning. 

She didn’t know why she almost felt relieved that it wasn’t that. After all, the chickens she could deal with.

“Worse,” he continued. “My crew is mostly Girsha.”

Y/N froze as her brain played catch up for what this could mean.

He finally turned to face her fully. “I did say it was worse.”

“You have a ship full of Grisha ?” She heard herself say it, whispering the word like Djel may hear her otherwise. 

He titled his head. “What did you think I meant by ‘ I captain her myself’? Did you think I meant I was out there hoisting the sails alone in the moonlight like a poetic fool?”

“Yes!” she hissed, glaring. “I mean, no. I don’t know, I thought maybe you had a crew of Kerch traders or mercenaries even or— not Grisha.”

He lifted his hands. “They’re good people. Most of them are Ravkan, yes, but some are from Novyi Zem, a few are Shu. I promise you, Princess, they don’t bite. Not unless you ask.”

She crossed her arms. “It’s not funny.”

“No. It’s not.” He agreed and continued walking.

“You said, it would be safe.” She argued, nearly walking backwards to keep her glare pinned on him. “That we won’t be stopped. With a Grisha crew, they will blow your ship from the water. It doesn’t matter if I’m aboard.” Her panic spiraled with each step they took towards fifth harbour and towards the open seas. 

His smile flattered a little. “But it is safe. Safer than you being alone for weeks in a city that would turn on you the moment the smelled war in the air. I wouldn’t have offered, if I couldn’t get us to Fjerda. If I couldn’t protect you.”

She studied him for a long moment. Slowing her steps until the both stood in the middle of a little paved road along the canal. This boy who had infuriated her daily, who bantered like it was a sport and never let her have the last word and realized she believed him. He would get them there. 

“…Fine,” she muttered.

“Excellent,” He turned on his heel and resumed walking, a bit more bounce in his step. “One more thing,” he said at the same moment she realized they were no longer heading in the direction of the harbour. 

“Of course there is,” she joked, attempting to hide the dread she felt. No longer just about boarding a ship with people who would rightfully hate her, but because of all the trust she was placing in the Lantsov Prince, she had no proof he would keep to his word. 

“On the ship, I’m not Nikolai Lantsov . That would, uh… cause complications. I go by Sturmhond. ”

She blinked, as he ducked down a small alleyway. “What?”

“Pirate-y, I know. Sounds roguish, doesn’t it?”

“Sounds fake.”

He smirked. “Thank you.”

Just as she was about to ask where he was taking her, he stopped in front of a low, unassuming building tucked between warehouses. A single man stood outside, arms folded, dark eyes sharp as glass, and a weapon strapped to his back. He nodded once as Nikolai approached, before opening the door behind him and disappearing into the dimly lit house. 

“This is Tolya,” he said, gesturing to the man as he made to follow him inside. “Heartrender. Brilliant at killing people. And lucky for us, just enough of a Tailor.”

Tolya nodded at her in greeting before turning back to the prince. “Ready?”

Nikolai faced Y/N, “you might want to take a seat, this may take a minute.” 

He’d gestured to a wooden crate that sat just within the little circle of light caused by a single oil lamp hung from the rafters. She wanted to protest on principle alone. The chair , if you could call it that, seemed anything but comfortable. But before she’d gotten to speak, Nikolai had already turned back to the other man.

“Go ahead,” Nikolai said.

Before she could ask what that meant, Tolya raised a hand. A shimmer of heat passed over Nikolai’s face like a ripple through water. Y/N sat upon seeing his nose shift. 

Tolya took a small sample of orange fabric from his pocket, raising it towards Nikolai's hair. His golden hair had turned coppery red, the colour leaching from the fabric leaving it dull and Y/N couldn’t look away. 

She’d been told once that Grisha could change what they look like, but she’d never seen it happen. As children they were told that it was how Grisha stayed hidden so long. Monsters hiding among them, looking almost human. Y/N had learned long ago that they were human, but it hasn’t stopped parents from using the tales of Grisha able to steal faces to keep their children from venturing out at night, to get them to bed on time, or even to finish the night's dinner. 

When it was done, everything about the man she’d once known was gone. His skin was a little ruddier. Freckles dotted his nose. His once-blue eyes were bright green, and his nose had just the slightest crooked bend that hadn't been there before. 

Y/N blinked

Nikolai, or Stumhond, rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “Well? What do you think?”

“You look like a boy who should work in a bakery,” she said slowly. “Or— teach poetry .”

He flushed. Flushed . “I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

She tilted her head, trying not to smile. “You’re kind of sweet-looking like this.” 

“Sweet?” he gasped. “You wound me.”

She was still smirking when they left the warehouse. Nikolai walked up front with Tolya, but she found he was glancing back more than usual, checking that she was still with them. 

Nikolai gave her a brief overview on the walk, while simultaneously being briefed by Tolya on what he’d missed. 

“Remember,” he told Y/N. “Your family has paid for your voyage over, let’s say… turbulent seas. The safe return of Princess Y/N L/N, is of top importance. She’ll sleep away for the crew, if possible.”

“There is a hammock in the back, by the stairs,” Tolya pointed out.

“Perfect. You are my honoured guest, if anyone causes you trouble, please let me know.”

She was finding it difficult to tell when he was talking to her verses what was for his second in command.

He switched between conversations, adjusting plans and making travel arrangements as they walked with the efficiency of a general and the poise of a king. 

It was fascinating to watch. 

When, at last, they turned the final corner towards the fifth harbour out of the alleyways and desolate streets lined in gambling dens and crawling with drunkards, a ship came into view. A sleek, dark beauty rocking gently in the tide. Ropes collider neatly on deck, flags fluttering low, and along the side, in swirling white on the dark wooden side: The Volkvolny.

Nikolai stepped ahead of her, posture shifting like a blade unsheathed. 

“Tamar!” he called as a woman, with short black hair and a vest mirroring that Tolya wore, descended the gangplank. 

She tossed a teal jacket towards her captain before giving Y/N a once over. 

Nikolai shrugged on the coat, turning back and giving Y/N a theatrical bow, red hair catching the sunlight just so. 

“Welcome aboard, Princess,” Captain Sturmhond declared, all false pomp and smug bravado. “Try not to fall in love with me during the journey. It gets awkward.”

Y/N blinked up at him. There he was, the infuriating prince-pirate boy with too many grins and too much charm for his own good.  

She rolled her eyes. “Smug doesn’t suit a bakery boy.”

He winked. Leaning in as she passed him to follow Tolya onto the awaiting ship, “good thing I’m not one.” His voice was low and captivating, as he leaned too close, words for her ears alone. 

Her cheeks warmed, ever so slightly with a flush she could not control. 

Try not to fall in love . She no longer knew if they were her own words or his teasing ones that played in her head as the ship set off. Leaving Ketterdam, the safety of classrooms and study sessions in libraries bustling with other students behind as they sailed towards Fjerda.

Chapter Text

Y/N’s POV -

The ship rocked gently beneath her feet, but Y/N stood ramrod straight on the deck, refusing to let her nerves show. She’d barely had time to process what she’d agreed to. Sailing home with him , and not just him, but the full force of his smug alter ego. 

She found herself standing at the rail as Sturmhond shouted instructions to his crew. She watched Kerch disappear into the distance, as the flutter of sails became a constant and activity on deck slowed. She continued to stand there even as the little island disappeared over the horizon. The sea air comforted her when everything else felt unfamiliar. 

Her fragile peace was broken rather abruptly, with Nikolai’s telltale flourish. 

“Princess,” he’d said with a dramatic sweep of his arms, red hair catching the setting sun and green eyes twinkling like he was the star of some over-exaggerated Kerch adventure novel. He even winked when he said it. The bastard. “May I introduce you to the crew,” it wasn’t really a question, as he was already walking away. 

“Kseniya and Mikhail,” he stopped beside a table where two crew members sat mending a net and laughing over a shared joke. 

“Captian,” Mikhail said instinctively. 

“How are the repairs on the Hummingbird coming along?” Sturmhond broke into casual conversation as if Y/N wasn’t standing beside him. 

She played with the cuff of her sleeve, as Mikhail continued to glance towards her while responding. 

“We completed it this morning, she should…” he trailed off glancing from the Fjerdan princess to his captain. 

Strumhond raised a brow. 

“She should fly,” the boy hurried on, “Nadia plans to test it tonight, on your orders.” 

“Thank you,” Strumhond said, nodding to them both before moving on. “Mikhail is still new, an excellent Durast but a little jumpy.”

“Especially around Fjerdans…” Y/N added, knowing she held the weight of her country’s hatred.

“Yes, but you are no threat to my crew, Princess,” Strumhond continued, his hand landing on her back as he guided her to the upper deck where a Squaller was propelling the ship forward. 

“This is Nadia,” he introduced, “one of few terrific Squallers. I believe she is the only reason this ship still floats.” 

“Nice to meet you,” Nadia stuck her hand out in greeting, only to withdraw it quickly, as if forgetting she was currently controlling the wind in the sails. 

“You, too.” 

He guided her to the helm, where he flicked upon a little golden compass that hung from his neck. Before adjusting the wheel ever so slightly, it felt like it would barely make a difference. 

“You’ve already met, Tolya and Tamar, they are my seconds. If you need anything, you can always go to them.”

Y/N nodded, but she felt out of place. No matter how much Nikolai attempted to include her, to welcome her into his life. It was odd. 

Dinner was loud. The crew was louder, especially when they weren’t working. A few kept their distance with narrowed eyes, no doubt less than pleased to have a Fjerdan royal aboard. Others weren’t so shy. Nadia was sweet, sitting beside Y/N and asking her questions about her schooling in Kerch. Nadia admitted she’d studied in the little palace but had always kind of wanted to go to Ketterdam. One girl with a buzz of purple hair and an ink black sash she used in place of a belt, leaned over and asked about Fjerda. Some questions seem pointed or even intrusive. Another winked and said they didn’t think Fjerdan girls were this pretty. She could only stumble through answers and laugh awkwardly. 

And Nikolai—Sturmhond, whatever —was no help.

He leaned close over her shoulder, stealing a cherry tomato for her plate and whispering in that lilting, teasing voice of his, “careful, Princess, you keep blushing like that and someone might think you're enjoying this.”

“I’m not blushing,” she muttered, stabbing her fork into a potato with more force than necessary. 

“Oh, I see. It’s just the salt air and the thrill of high seas diplomacy.”

She turned sharply. “Why are you like this?”

He grinned, annoyingly boyish. “You’ll miss me when I’m gone.”

She scoffed, rising from the bench before someone else could make another poorly veiled jab about her accent or homeland. The crew wasn’t cruel, but they weren’t warm either. Not to her.

Sturmhond caught up with her easily, falling into step beside her as they moved across the deck toward the stairs. Realizing she didn’t know where she was sleeping, nor did she trust anyone here enough to actually fall asleep in a hammock surrounded by Ravka’s and Grisha who very likely despised her family, and therefore her as well. 

“You can’t seriously expect me to sleep in the lower deck,” she regretted the words as she said them. He was still a Lantsov. Their countries were still at war. He was already doing her a huge favour taking her halfway across the world just to take her home. 

He blinked at her, feigning innocence. “What, the chorus of snoring sailors and mild-to-medium threats of violence don’t appeal?”

She shot him a glare. 

“No,” he added more seriously, “I don’t expect that. I may be an obnoxious, incorrigible flirt, but I’m not cruel.”

She opened her mouth to argue, then paused. That may have been the first time he’d ever correctly accessed himself. She smiled slightly, glancing at the floor to avoid his eyes. 

Nevertheless, his grin returned. “My cabin then?”

She stopped dead. “Excuse me?”

“ For you ,” he clarified, voice still infuriatingly smooth. “I’ll take a hammock below. It’s not the first time I’ve given it up for a diplomat in distress.”

“I am not in distress.”

He leaned closer again. “Then you’ll own me.”

So this was his plan . She almost thought to refuse, to take the hammock downstairs to prove she could. To avoid him holding this over her head. “Well… call this even, then.” She had already called in her favour, whether he recognized that fact or not no longer mattered. 

There was a long pause. She searched his face. His slightly crooked nose, the false colour in his eyes, the too-charming mouth, and found nothing but sincerity buried under layers of dramatics. The mask he wore might be one of rakish bravado, but there was still the same boy she had debated, argued with, and nearly hated. 

She hesitated. “Thank you.”

He bowed. “The pleasure is all mine.”

She took a step up the stairs towards the captain's quarters, stopping to look back at him, now at eye level, from her position on the steps. “You’re still smug.”

He stepped closer, hand grasping the railing, just below hers. “And you’re still beautiful when you’re annoyed.”

She turned and retreated up the stairs. Shutting the door to the quarters the second she was inside, preventing him from following or saying another word.  

The lanterns swayed gently from the masts as the Volkvolny cut through the waves. The air is thick with salt and laughter. Someone shouted from the crow’s nest. Someone else shouted back, louder. Y/N smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she watched the crew bustle about their tasks, her borrowed cotton tunic light in the morning sun. 

She’d offered to help, anywhere, but Sturmhond had only laughed and asked her what she thought she could do aboard a ship. So she helped with food prep, until they realized she peeled potatoes as if they were glass and tried to stir stew like it was an alchemical experiment. Tamar had taken the knife from her hands with a dry smile and handed her a deck of cards instead. 

“You know how to play Komarov?” Tolya asked as they sat in a rough circle around an overturned crate. 

“I’ve heard of it,” she said. “I’m told it leads to bruised egos and long grudges.”

Tamar grinned. “Exactly. You’ll fit in fine.”

“I don’t want to make enemies here,” Y/N admitted to Tamar before the game started. 

“So don’t, this is all lighthearted even if we pretend it's not.”

She ended up losing four rounds, badly. Tamar was ruthless. Tolya didn’t bluff so much as glare the cards into submission. Another crew member, who she believed was named Kofi, was scarily good at lying. But Y/N didn’t mind losing. For the first time since setting foot on the ship, she didn’t feel like a foreign object. She laughed when Tolya tried to teach her how to shuffle, ground when Nadia threw down the winning hand three turns in, and even earned a nod of approval when she finally stole a round with a very lucky pair. 

Later. With the sea calm and most of the crew winding down, Y/N slipped below deck, towards the Captain's quarters. 

The door to the office was open a crack. She peeked in. 

Sturmhond sat at his desk, quill in hand, lips pursed in though. Maps and papers were spread across the surface, along with what looked like a half-eaten roll and a very neglected mug of tea. He looked up when he heard her. 

“I know that look,” he said, pushing his chair back a few inches. “You’re here to evict me.”

She arched a brow. “Evict you from your own office?”

He gestured to the room’s one narrow bed, tucked behind a curtain. “Technically, it’s your office for the night, your highness.”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she stepped in fully, pulling the door shut behind her and taking the seat opposite him.

She sat. 

He blinked. “This is new.”

 “I didn’t come to sleep.”

“Ah. you’ve come to haunt me.”

She smiled. “You deserve it.”

He leaned back in his chair, watching her with that infuriating mix of amusement and curiosity. “Should I be worried?”

No , she thought. I haven’t seen you all day …

“You should always be worried around clever women,” she said instead. Her voice aimed to be casual, but her eyes held his. 

“Noted.” he smiled faintly, then nodded towards her new outfit. “Did you fleece that off my crew?”

“I asked nicely. And threatened to curse a deck of cards.”

“See? You’re getting the hand of diplomacy already.”

She chuckled, leaning her arms on the deck. “So what are you working on?”

He signed dramatically. “Supply orders. Charts. A few drafted letters to send ahead before I make it to Ravka.”

“Sounds thrilling.”

“You’ve no idea. Earlier I debated using a different word for urgency in one of the letters. I’ve lived a full life.”

She laughed softly and he looked up, genuinely started. Like her laughter was something rare and warm, something he hadn’t realized he missed until just then.

“Saints, that sound,” he said, half to himself. “Say something else to make me feel clever.”

“You’ll get spoiled.”

“I am spoiled.”

She rolled her eyes. “Obviously.”

He grinned. “You’re not like most royals.”

“Neither are you.” 

He tilted his head. “That sounded suspiciously like a compliment.”

She met his gaze. “It was.”

He was the only person she knew who would willingly forgo his position for a life at sea. For choppy waves and swelteringly sunny days. Yet, she was beginning to understand. It was freeing when no one knew your name, or in her case, when they stopped caring that there was supposed to be a title in front of it. 

A beat passed between them. A quiet one. Comfortable. Then she added, softer, “good night, Nikolai.”

He straightened slightly as she stood, the wood planks groaned as she slid the chair away from the desk. It was the first time she’d said it. Not Sturmhond , not Lantsov , not even a title, but his name. Just his name. 

He smiled, slower this time. “Good night, Princess.”

She moved towards the curtain that separated the bed from the rest of his office. Pausing as she reached it. 

“Don’t stay up too late.”

The lamp light from his desk flickered in her eyes as she glanced back at him. A soft smile playing on her lips. 

“I’ll try not to.”

She didn’t tell him to leave. Didn’t claim the room for herself. She just glanced over her shoulder, and for the first time since leaving Ravka for school, he didn’t feel like a boy wearing a crown he hadn’t earned, but someone she might want to sit across from again. 

And again.

And again.

Chapter Text

Nikolai’s POV -

Nikolai had always believed in the power of a good entrance, but for once, he found himself stalled.

He stood at the base of the narrow stairwell leading up to the captain’s cabin, a mug of strong Kerch coffee in hand, freshly brewed and far better than what they were served in the university’s coffee shops. He didn’t hear her footsteps above, but he felt them. Light, careful, deliberate. Y/N never moved like someone who belonged on a Ravkan ship, and that was part of what made it so difficult to look away. 

Then she stepped out, careful to shut the door softly behind her. 

Hair unbound and cascading in soft waves over her shoulders. Her expression unreadable in the morning light, blinking against the cold sea air. Still sleepy, maybe. Or maybe she always looked like this. Half sunbeam, half storm front. 

He forgot the line he’d been rehearsing for the past ten minutes. “Good morning, Princess,” he said instead, a lopsided grin tugging at his mouth as he offered her the coffee. “You’re beautiful.”

It slipped out. Careless, perhaps, but entirely true. 

Her gaze flicked to him, uncertain whether to take the compliment or challenge it. She accepted the coffee without comment, though her fingers brushed his when she did. Warm. deliberate. 

“Your coat is loud,” she muttered into the mug after a long sip. “Especially this early.”

He looked down at his signature teal coat with exaggerated pride. Golden compass at the breast, and absolutely impractical for most naval engagements. “It’s called fashion, milaya. You wouldn’t understand.”

“I understand that it makes you a bigger target,” she said as she emerged on deck with the rest of the crew. Tamar giving him a nod as he passed. 

“Only for compliments,” he shot back. “Though lately, I’ve been coming up short.”

“I believe I complimented you last night,” she rolled her eyes, but there was a ghost of a smile there, just for a second. So unaware of how her words may be interpreted by nearby crew. 

Someone let out a low whistle and Nikolai found himself smirking at her, “I suppose you did.”

She blanched a little, as if realizing he wasn’t going to help clear up the situation. 

The morning was quiet as he made his way to the helm. The golden compass, she had so rudely insulted moments ago, found its way into his hand as he checked the ship’s course once more. The early morning mist over the sea began to burn away in the rising sun, and the crew was already at work. Ropes tightening, sails adjusting to the morning breeze. Tamar barked something from the starboard side, a sailor responding in a grunt. But in the centre of it all stood Y/N, hair down and wearing a simple blue cotton tunic and a long skirt she must have already had. 

“We’ll reach Djerholm by nightfall tomorrow,” Nikolai yelled down when he caught himself watching her. “Wind’s been good to us.”

Her expression dimmed just slightly, and he knew she was thinking of home.

“That’s good,” she replied, carefully neutral. But he heard what she didn’t say. It’s not home if I arrive on a Ravkan ship with a Ravkan Prince .

She stood by the railing, watching the water like it had all the answers. 

Nikolai was still debating what to say next when the cry went up from the lookout. 

“Ship on the horizon!”

Every muscle in him tensed. He turned, already moving toward the quarterdeck. His officers snapped into action. Tamar climbed to a better vantage. The crew scrambled to check sails and prepare to run if he gave the order. He watched Tamar as she pulled a spy glace, finding the ship in the distance. Y/N’s breath caught beside him as Tamar finally spoke. 

“Fjerdan flags,” Tamar called after a moment, breath sharp. “Three masts, gunports closed. They aren’t chasing.” 

Nikolai swore under his breath. He turned back to Y/N, who had already set down the coffee and braced herself at the railing. She was pale. Not afraid. Just calculating. 

“Let me guess,” she said dryly, “you jinxed us.”

He flashed a tight, humorless grin. “Apparently.”

Tamar and Tolya had made their way to him, awaiting orders. “I don’t think they have seen us yet. We can still run,” Tamar added helpfully. 

The Volkvolny was one of the quickest ships on the True Sea, but as he glanced towards Y/N again, he realized he couldn’t simply flee. He had promised to take her home, if confronting Fjerdan naval officers was what was required to do so, then so be it. 

With a shudder, he gave the order, “stay the course.” His voice dropped, calm and captain-steady, “make ready for a boarding inspection. We’ll go slow, let them think we have nothing to hide. That they have taken us by surprise. Tolya, fetched our papers. Kerch cargo manifest, as agreed. Tamar, stand ready below. If this goes south, I want you and three more on the powder barrels.”

“And if this doesn’t go south?” Tamar asked.

“Then we’re just another charming crew with nothing to hide.”

As the crew got into position, an Inferni and Tidemaker followed Tamar below decks. Otkazat'sya taking their place upfront, presenting a united crew, while the Grisha half of the crew went about removing any markers of identification that may give them away to Drüskelle.     Nikolai turned back towards Y/N, who looked just as out of place as she had this morning. “Let me do the talking, and for Saints’ sake, try not to look like a princess.”

Her chin lifted, mouth twitching into a rare smile. “Says the one in brocade with a compass bigger than his ego.”

He laughed then, unexpected and warm. Then a thought struck him, cutting the moment short.

Her voice was too polished. Her Fjerdan fluent and her Ravkan too well rehearsed to sound natural.

He waved Nadia over. “Take her below decks,” he said, adding “and find her something more… casual to wear.” 

The Fjerdan patrol ship slid alongside the Volkvolny with an unsettling grace. Predatory. As though it had been waiting, scenting ships on the wind long before we ever glimpsed it. The white and red crest of the wolf banner caught on the sun, bold and sharp, daring anyone foolish enough to cross its path.

Sturmhond tightened his grip on the railing, wearing the rakish smile that sailors swore made storms part and saints forgive. “Well,” he said lightly, loud enough for Tolya, who stood by his side, and the rest of the crew to hear, “I do love uninvited guests. Saves me the trouble of extending proper invitations.”

“They’ll inspect our papers,” Tolya rumbled, his hand reading on the satchel tucked under his arm.

“Yes, and what excellent, definitely-not-forged papers they are,” Sturmhond replied, keeping his tone breezy. While inside, his stomach coiled. The ink was fresh. Too fresh. He’d paid handsomely for those seals and signatures, but Fjerdans had a habit of sniffing out lies like hounds on a fox. It was a clever forgery but it didn’t stop him from worrying that he’d paid the wrong Barrel crew.

The Fjerdan ship threw down its gangplank, and boots began to thump across. Six officers in wolf-grey coats, rifles slung casually, as if they knew they didn’t need them. Their leader stepped forward, a tall, hard-faced man, every inch of him carved from the same ice his country worshipped. He didn’t bother with greetings.

“Papers,” he said at the same time Sturmhond began his welcome aboard speech.

The man extended his hand, and all Sturmhond could do was smirk as Tolya passed over the papers. Tolya’s expression didn’t flicker, but Sturmhond caught the faintest hesitation in how his thumb lingered on the corner of the sheaf. The officer flipped through, eyes scanning every line. His lips moved faintly, soundless, as though tasting the Kerch words. 

For the first time in a long while, Sturmhond felt the stirrings of something ugly. Not fear. No, fear and him were old friends. This was closer to fury. Because below deck, Y/N was waiting. Hidden with Nadia, pressed into shadow, trusting him to keep the Fjerdan’s gaze turned away. She should never have been here in the first place. Not on his storm-driven, half-patched vessel. Not in a game where one wrong word might mean chains. Or death.

He pushed the thought down. Useless. Instead, he let his grin widen, “I must say,” he drawled, “it’s a fine day for a boarding. You’ve picked the right ship. No offense to the merchant three leagues west of here, but their cook doesn’t put nearly enough salt in his stew.”

The officer didn’t look up. “Is this the whole crew?”

He felt the air tighten around them. Tolya’s shoulders stiffened, waiting for him to feed the office the lie we’d agreed upon. Yes. The whole crew. Nothing to see here. But lies are like cards, if you play the same suit ever hand, sooner or later your opponent notices. And Fjerdans? They were trained to notice.

“No,” he said smoothly, as if it hardly mattered. “Not nearly. We’ve got some below deck. What is a captain without a few bashful sailors, eh?”

That earned a sharp glance from Tolya, but Sturmhond only kept smiling.

The officer’s eyes narrowed and for a second Sturmhond thought the man would just accept that explanation and move on. “Bring them up.” Of course.

Tolya hesitated for a fraction of a second, long enough for Sturmhond to catch the flash of confusion in his gaze. But he obeyed, striding below decks to fetch the crew.

Which left Sturmhond standing on the deck between his crew and six Fjerdan officers, their boots dirtying his ship, their rifles gleaming, and their leader still rifling through papers that might unravel with the wrong crease. 

“Well,” Sturmhond said cheerfully, “since we’ve time while my people find their courage, perhaps I’ll tell you a story. You strike me as men who enjoy a good story.”

The officer glanced up, unimpressed. Perfect.

“There was a time.” Sturmhond began, leaning back against the main mast, “I served aboard a vessel called the White Gull. Terrible ship. She smelled like a goat pen and creaked like my grandmother’s knees. But once, off the southern coast, we caught sight of a Fjerdan whaler. Big, ugly thing, all tusks and nets. Their captain thought us easy prey. Do you know what we did?”

The younger of the officers, perhaps more susceptible to curiosity than discipline, tilted his head slightly. Hook set.

Sturmhond grinned wider, loving the dramatics. “We’d painted out hull white, flew no colours, and convinced him we were saints come down from the heavens to deliver absolution. Would you believe the food gave us half his cargo in offering?”

Two of the officers actually snorted. Their leader’s expression didn’t change, but he flipped the to the last page of the papers and studied the deal. 

Sturmhond pressed on, voice carrying, words flowing fast enough to keep eyes on him. “Now, my grandmother— a tall, fierce Ravkan woman—she always said the sea rewards those who take risks. A lesson I’ve taken to heart though between us, Fjerdan ale is not worth smuggling. Too weak. You might as well drink melted snow.”

That earned a low chuckle. Distraction, sweet distraction.

Boots clanged as the crew began to file up from below, one by one. Tamar first, eyes sharp jaw set, she was still ready for a fight if it got to that point. Then Rasmus and the rest. Finally Nadia, calm as ever, but her gaze flicked just once toward Sturmhond. A subtle nod. 

Safe . Nikolai felt something in his chest loosen a fraction, though he kept his smile fixed as if nothing had passed. Y/N was still hidden below and with any luck in clothes that didn’t make her look like an ethereal princess, far above this little ship. She was still hidden. Still his to protect. 

The officer closed the papers, snapping the sheaf against his palm. He gave the captain a long, assessing look. “Your seal is Kerch.”

“Well, naturally.”
“You’re Ravkan,” he practically bit out the word like it was painful to admit he’d just held a conversation with a Ravkan sailor.

“Quite perceptive. You wouldn’t want me pretending to be Kerch would you? Dreadful manners, the Kerch. They’ll rob you blind and then charge you interest.”

Another officer smirked. Their leader remained stone faced. “We may need to inspect your cargo,” he said, handing back the papers and already signaling for his soldiers to split up. 

There it was. The noose tightening. Sturmhond tucked the papers into his jacket and raised his hands, a laugh bubbling up easy and bright. “By all means! Though I warn you, it’s mostly salted fish and disappointment. The fish is cheaper than the disappointment, if you’d care to sample.”

The man stared at Sturmhond, as if waiting for him to fight this. Sturmhond stared back, challenging. The officer gestured sharply for his subordinates to begin. They spread out, boots echoing across the deck. Nikolai’s pulse thudded once in his throat, too heavy, too close to dread. 

But as they moved, the crew lingered in their path. Nadia caught an officer by the arm, pointing skyward, remarking the sails on the Fjerdan warship. Tamar drew one officer into a discussion about Fjerdan steel. Kseniya leaded in the way of the path down wards, twirling her hair around one finger and laughing at something one of the young officers said. 

And when Tolya returned topside, his expression gave nothing away as he made his way across the deck to Sturmhond. The slight shift in his stance, a silent acknowledgement that this will not work. 

Saints help us.

Chapter Text

Nikolai’s POV -

Nikolai gave a brief nod to Tolya and made for the secondary hatch leading below decks, as his second took up distracting the main officer from Stumhond's escape. 

The overturned crate, which doubled for a card table on a good day, slid easily out of the way. Revealing the little trap door beneath. Two of his crew watched him pass, and blocked his movements from view with their bodies. They stood shoulder to shoulder observing the Fjerdan officers crawling the deck. 

Once below, Nikolai shut the trapdoor above his head as quietly as possible. Letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when it faintly clicked shut, plunging the far end of the crew quarters in virtual darkness. This corner had been turned into storage over the years, and doubled as the perfect hiding place. Where he would have placed the princess, but he did understand the cobwebs and think layers of dust may have discouraged his crew from being so cavalier.

Nikolai hurried past the hammocks and towards his quarters, hoping she was there… and that he didn’t run into any Fjerdan’s on the way. That may be hard to explain. A captain sneaking around on his own ship. 

He pressed his back against the slatted wall separating the crew quarters from the main stairs downwards. Footfalls echoed around the room and overhead. All someone had to do was open the door. He held his breath and no one did. The door stayed firmly shut until the boots disappeared further down the hall and likely into the cargo hold below. 

Nikolai eased the door open with a sickening creak.

That will have to be fixed , he thought to himself. For the next time he found himself sneaking around, naturally. 

He made his way down the hall in quick measured steps. Glancing over his shoulder, more times than he’d like to admit. 

A crash below made him jump. What were they doing to his stuff? Nikolai hadn’t necessarily lied earlier when he told them it was nothing more than salted fish and despair down there. He was transporting soldiers' rations for the war. The Fjerdan’s just didn’t need to know which side of the war they were intended for. 

Then, he rounded the corner, his teal coat swooping out behind him with a dramatic flair. Then coming back to hit his sides when he abruptly stopped. 

The deck was eerily quiet as boots thudded against the planks, the Fjerdan officer gripping Y/N’s arm tightly as he dragged her into the dim light, where the sun began to crest on the waves. She didn’t resist. If anything she was frighteningly calm, while Nikolai found himself thrashing in the officer’s hold, as they dragged him up the stairs and onto the deck behind her. 

Y/N’s POV -

Y/N’s chin was lifted and her eyes steady even as her heart hammered in her chest. When her gaze caught Nikolai’s, she saw fury there, sharp and banked, as if it burned just beneath his performative, easy grin. 

This wasn’t how she had wanted to see him look at her again: concerned, dangerous, and fighting to stay in control of the ever spiraling situation. 

The Fjerdan commander’s voice sliced clean through the silence. “You said this was your entire crew.”

His lazy gesture towards the gathered crew, made Y/N realize the true extent of their problem. While Nikolai had come to find her, it was clear something had happened to her. His idea of a distraction she can only assume. 

Someone had a black eye. Tamar’s fist was clenched and she had blood on her knuckles. Nadia and an Inferni Y/N had only briefly met, had their hands raised in surrender, likely to avoid accidentally proving themself as Grisha. And everyone stood gathered on the far side of the deck, with rifles trained on them. 

Nikolai’s struggling resumed beside her. She heard him faintly whispering “no” under his breath, repeatedly. 

The Fjerdan captain stepped into their line of sight, looking over Y/N with unnerving scrutiny. She was almost afraid he’d recognize her. But maybe that would be a blessing. 

“I will ask one more time. Is this your entire crew, Captain Sturmhond?”

“Yes.” Nikolai didn’t flinch when he said it. His coat catching the wind, teal fabric snapping like a banner. He looked every inch the pirate now. Smug, dangerous, and composed despite the worsening situation. “That is my entire crew. She’s not crew. She’s a passenger.”

The officer’s nostrils flared. “You omitted her presence on your manifest. That’s an offense—”

“I was told you were here to check for contraband and falsified weapons,” Nikolai cuts in, tone clipped. “I wasn’t aware passengers now count as smuggled goods.”

He is a good diplomat , Y/N found herself inwardly admitting. His ability to change the meaning of his words while making it look as effortless as breathing. He was a good prince, which made him a dangerous person to stand across from, as diplomacy was unneeded on the high seas. Yet, Y/N had to admit, there was something oddly comforting about standing beside him. 

“You hid her.”

“No,” he answers, attempting to step forward, but being held back by the officers who flank his sides. “I protected her.”

The deck swelled with tension. Crew members exchanged worried glances. Tolya subtly steps closer to Tamar. Even the sails above seem to still, as if holding their breath. 

Nikolai glanced behind them to his crew, and Y/N knew that something tremendously stupid was about to happen if she didn’t stop it. If she didn’t stop this before it began, blood would be spilled on the lightly polished deck of the Volkvolny , so close to the home she was dutifully attempting to return to.

“Unhand me.”

All heads turned in her direction. Nikolai looked exasperated, the crew was torn between curiosity and horror, and the Fjerdan commander had condescension written all over his stoic facade. A look she was sure he’d regret.

He took a step closer, “sweetheart, the men are speaking.” Just a typical Fjerdan and she nearly let it slide.

Fighting against the instinct ingrained in her over years and years of tutelage, she spoke again. “I said unhand me.” The man opened his mouth the reply but she continued, “and if you dare sweetheart me again, I will ensure you never work in Fjerda again.”

Recognition clicked in his eyes. “She is the Fjerdan princess,” he muttered half to himself and half to the gathered officers. Her arms were realized rather quickly after that. “What in Djel’s name are you doing on a Ravkan ship?” he demanded. Not unlike how a father would talk to a misbehaving child.

Y/N lifted her chin, and rubbed at her wrist where she had been grabbed. “I paid for passage.” 

The man turns to her in disbelief, barely masking his suspicion. “You expect me to believe you paid a Ravkan pirate for safe return?”

“Privateer,” Nikolai retorted, reminding her that he and his crew were still hostages aboard their own ship.

“Yes. I expect you remember that Kerch is neutral ground. This ship happened to be going to Fjerda anyway. War makes for strange allies,” that last part was true enough, when else would she have found herself in the company of Nikolai Lantsov for days on end. “I will have you release Captain Sturmhond and his crew, you have delayed my return long enough, commander.” 

“The king—” the commander began his protest, like a petulant child. 

“I wrote to my father. If you want proof, you can speak to him upon your return to Djerholm.” She didn’t like saying that, it felt too close to lying. Her father knew nothing about her voyage overseas. It had been a rather spur of the moment decision. Yet, she wasn’t lying she had written to him, a few times actually. But all iterations of the letter currently resided beneath a pile of financial reports on Sturmhond's desk. 

The officer glanced between her and the captain. “You are playing a dangerous game, both of you.”

“Good thing I’m quite good at games,” Sturmhond says, smiling tightly and shrugging off the soldier’s hands from his arms. “Now, unless you plan to arrest a diplomatic passenger with full intent to return to her homeland, I’d like you off my ship.” His words were quite pointed at the soldiers still holding rifles near his crew. 

There’s a long silence. The officer watches Sturmhond like he’s trying to decide whether to punch him or salute him. Then finally, he took a step back. 

“See that she gets home,” he mutters. “We’ll be watching.”

They descended the plank without another word, their ship sailing off a few minutes later into the dusky sea.

Nikolai let out a long breath, and only then does the crew begin to move again. 

“Weigh anchor!” Tamar’s rang out as she began directing the crew about their tasks again. Like this was a regular, uninterrupted journey.

“We are less than a day’s journey from the Fjerdan coast now!” Sturmhond warned. “We sail like normal from here, I don’t want to be stopped because they suspect there to be Grisha onboard.” Then he turned to Y/N, voice low and flat. “You shouldn’t have come up.”

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” she recalled, voice tone spiteful. How had seconds ago she been glad to be one his side? She wondered. “Plus, you shouldn’t have been deceitful,” she shoots back, softer than expected. “But I get it.”

They’re silent for a long beat before he says, “I’ll be in my cabin.”

She hadn’t realized how close they were standing until he took a step back, taking the heat with him. 

She calls after him as he starts to walk away. “Sturmhond.”

He pauses.

“Thank you,” she says. “For protecting me.”

He glances back, and for the first time since the Fjerdan ship appeared, the corner of his mouth lifts. Just barely. “You’re welcome, Princess.”

And then he’s gone. 

Nikolai’s POV -

He was pacing.

The door to his cabin had barely clicked shut before his feet began to move, his thoughts running circles faster than his boots could keep up. The wind had finally calmed, but the inside of his chest still felt like a storm, tight, sharp, and unsettled. 

He didn’t expect her to come after him. So when the knock came, soft and tentative against the wooden door, he froze.

She didn’t wait for permission. She never really had. 

Y/N stepped inside slowly, closing the door behind her with a quiet click . Her hair was still down from earlier, brushing her collarbones with each step, and it took everything in him not to stare at her mouth as she spoke.

“You should’ve let them take me.”

He blinked. “Pardon?”

She took another step in, arms crossed now, not in defiance but in defense. “The commander would’ve ensured I’d gotten home safely. You wouldn’t have had to explain anything. No lies, no risk to your crew.”

He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “Yes, I’m aware.”

The truth was he had very, very briefly considered it. The more questions the Fjerdan’s asked, the more the prodded around the ship the more likely they were of finding out about the crew, and Nikolai would never forgive himself if anything happened to the people he swore to protect. The issue came that Y/N just so happened to be one of those people now.

“Then why didn’t you?”

He didn’t answer at first. He turned away, staring out the cabin’s round window, where the final flickers of sunlight could be seen. Painting the waves in golden, flame-like strokes. The silence stretched long enough that she almost repeated the question. Until finally, he spoke. 

“Because I didn’t want to lose you,” he said, so quietly she barely caught it. “Not yet.”

Y/N stood still. Her voice was softer now. “What do you mean?”

He turned toward her, slowly, the shadows of the lanternlight catching in the gold of his compass, in the flecks of faux-green in his eyes.

“I’ve spent years letting people go,” he said. “For Ravka. For duty. For schemes I no longer even believe in. I thought I was good at it.” A small, butter smile curled his mouth. “And then you showed up in that stupid class, with perfect notes and a stubborn tilt to your chin, and suddenly I wasn’t so good at letting go.”

Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

He took a step closer.

She didn’t move.

“I didn’t want you to be a memory just yet,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I wanted one more night of watching you laugh at my terrible jokes. Another morning of you pretending not to notice me watching you from the helm. A few more—”

He stopped. They were close now. Closer that they’d ever been without some excuse to justify it. Her gaze dropped briefly to his mouth, and for a breathless moment, the air shifted.

He tilted his head, just slightly. 

She didn’t back away and Saints, he wanted to kiss her.

But just as his hand lifted, fingers aching to brush against her cheek, reality returned like a slap to the face. Her breath caught, and he saw the flicker of alarm mix with the longing in her eyes. 

They both stepped back at the same time. 

“I should go,” she murmured, already retreating toward the door. “Below deck.”

“No,” for a moment they both thought he was going to stop her. “I’ll leave, please, the quarters are still yours until we dock.”

She paused, hand halfway to the handle. “Your room smells like salt and ink and cedar,” she said in a whisper. “I think… if I stayed, I’d do something foolish.”

He gave her a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I specialize in foolish.”

“Goodnight, Sturmhond.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

The door closed behind her, and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Then he leaned both hands on the edge of his desk and stared down at the chart of the True Sea, wishing the tides could carry them anywhere but where they were going.

Chapter Text

Nikolai’s POV -

Docking was always a bit like waking from a dream. Slow and clunky, with the taste of salt and sleep still thick on the tongue. The ship creaked as it kissed the harbour, ropes thrown and tied, gangplanks lowered with practiced ease. 

And still, he didn’t look for her. Not right away.

He busied himself barking orders, helping the crew unload the supplies intended for the Hringsa operations in Fjerda, adjusting the manifest that no one had bothered to maintain properly since Kerch. It was easier than watching her prepare to leave. 

But eventually, the familiar sound of her steps found him anyway.

He turned as Y/N approached, her small pack slung over one shoulder, a light shawl around her arms. Her hair was plaited loosely to the side, and she looked better than she had in Kerch. Testament to the sea air he thought, but he’d never admit he noticed either way.

She made her rounds first, stopping to thank each member of his crew like they were longtime acquaintances rather than sea-hardened outlaws and Grisha. She clasped the hand of Mikhail, who had taught her how to tie a sailor's knot—able it reluctantly. Then pressed her forehead to Nadia’s, who she had become rather close to over the short voyage, a Squaller who never once treated her differently for being Fjerdan. She shared a quick word with Mila, the heartrender who had snuck her sweetbread during the roughest stretch of seas. Quoted a quick line of Fjerdan poetry for Tolya, which he returned with a small remorseful smile. 

Even Tamar nodded at her with a rare, respectful grin.

She approached Nikolai last.

“Captain,” she said, offering a quick curtsy. 

He bowed with a flourish. “My lady.”

“I wanted to say thank you. For not handing me over. For making room on your ship when you didn’t have to. For… well. The rest.”

He smirked. “If this is you being sentimental, I’m deeply honoured.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.” She hesitated, then stepped forward and, to his surprise, reached up and kissed his cheek.

It was barely there, just the soft brush of her lips against his skin, but his entire body went still. When she pulled back, her smile was shy, but her eyes gave her away.

“I’ll see you next term,” she whispered for him alone to hear. “Try not to get expelled before I get there.”

His heart caught. “You’re going back?”

“Of course I am. There are still things to learn. Things to say.” She paused, thinking hard about how much was safe to share. “The longer I’m there, the… safer. The longer I avoid being married off to some minor lord with a patch of ice and a few shiny coins to his name.” Then, as if the lighten the mood again, “I didn’t survive freezing waves and Sturmhond’s cooking just to drop out.”

He chuckled despite himself. Attempting to avoid the pain in his chest when she mentioned so causally how her whole life was built around her being a political pawn. “And here I was hoping you’d miss me.”

“Oh, I will,” she said, and the honesty of it hit him like a punch to the ribs. “But not enough to stay…”

Then she was walking away, the morning wind teasing the edges of her shawl as she stepped off the gangplank and onto the dock. Her figure disappeared into the crowd of traders and returning soldiers and Fjerdan guards who, thank the saints, paid her no mind.

Nikolai stood at the railing far too long. 

His cheek still tingled. His compass still lay on the desk inside, unmoved since the night she almost kissed him. His heart, damn it all, was already counting the weeks until term began again.

Y/N’s POV -

The ice cracked beneath the wheels of the cart as it creaked toward the Ice Court. Not enough to be dangerous, but enough to remind Y/N how fragile everything had become. 

The journey inland was longer than she remembered, colder too. HTe language came back quickly, but the silence of her escorts did not. They didn’t ask what she’d been doing. No one asked how she survived the journey over. Or why she decided to come back at all. When they looked at her—which was already a rarity—it was with a blend of suspicion and calculation, as if trying to determine how broken she’d become, and whether it would be useful. 

She arrived at the palace in furs and a practiced smile that felt off after months away. A Fjerdan flag whipped above the tower in defiance of the wind, and still, no one met her at the gate.

Then one of her older brothers, Casimir, stepped out from around a large stone tower. 

“Y/N,” he said with a tight nod. The formality of it hurt, as he stood with his arms behind, observing her.

She dipped her head, jaw clenched. “Commander.”

He searched her face as she ducked her head in a little bow. “Is that really how you greet family?”

She looked up, noting the small smile on his face. Before she thought further about it, she dropped her bag of clothes and books from the university, and closed the distance between them in two quick steps. Throwing her arms around her brother. 

“You didn’t write.” He noted, in the same brisk manner he handled most conversations. 

“I did write,” she snapped before she could stop herself. “It simply never reached you.” A smile began to creep its way onto her face as she fished a letter from her pack. 

A pause. Then he took the letter, unfolded it and nodded once as he tucked the folio into his jacket pocket. Then gestured for her to follow.

Her old rooms were stripped of colour. She hadn’t realized how colourful she had made her dorm in Ketterdam until now. The books were still on her shelves, but they lacked the notes in the margins she had begun to keep in the past few years. Letters and notes she'd exchanged with Fina in class nestled safely between their pages. While she had been away, her desk had been organized. The inkwell refiled, with a deep slate ink, and someone had replaced the quilt she used to sleep under with stiff linens that didn’t smell like home. 

That night, over dinner, her father didn’t ask her about her way home. Ignoring the pirate comments her brothers teased with. Her uncle and the king of Fjerda, was a lot more interested. Asking what she told them. What they’d asked her about Fjerda. 

She answered honestly when she could, forgoing details that seemed unnecessary or even damning in their own right. She didn’t sail with Ravkans, nor Grisha, and especially not under the protection of a Lantsov prince. 

Her lies were clean, practiced, and so sharp, it nearly sliced her own throat. 

Nikolai’s POV -

The gates of Os Alta groaned open to greet him like an old ghost returned from sea. He hated how quiet the city had become. No children chasing each other through the alleyways, no musicians on corners. The markets were a shadow of their former selves. Flour princes had tripled, oil was rationed, and people began looking towards the crown with contempt. The moment he crossed the square, a boy with hollow eyes asked him if the rumors were true, that Ravka was being pushed back. 

Nikolai didn’t answer.

He went straight to the war room, where maps were cracked and smudged with too many spilled drinks and shaking hands. The reports were worse than he’d feared: refugees had been pushed to the Fold in places, unable to retreat farther. The Fjerdan army had reinforced their borders, claiming it was in “defensive interest” but they’d also torched three Ravkan villages in the north. Saints help them, the Fjerdans were preparing for more. 

He asked where his father was. The answer came flat. Resting, hunting, not here. 

Vasily was no better, he slept through any of the council meetings he attended. Nikolai sat down in the chair Vasily had been too drunk to occupy and stared at the map until it blurred.

They were running out of resources, men, of hope. Saints, they were running out of time.

He poured himself a drink but didn’t touch it. Nikolai began regretting his return to Kerch. Maybe he should have stayed here, maybe Ravka would have been in a better place. 

His mind kept slipping back to a girl on a gangplank, with wind in her hair and frost in her eyes. She had kissed him on the cheek and warned him not to get expelled. 

I’ll see you next term.

Maybe he was better off in Kerch. In dusty libraries and too close debate classes. Maybe he was of more use ducking through alleyways or out on the open sea, then he was of use here. 

The papers piled up. Councilmen and generals alike sought him out to talk about the wars threat to trade, to border security, to demand support or more troops. Asking for him to make a statement.

A statement.

There might not be a next term.

Not for her country.

Not for his.

Not unless something changed. Fast. 

Y/N’s POV -

The war was no longer a distant tremor in the south. It pulsed beneath her feet now, in the rigid posture of the guards, the ever-present scent of gun oil in the palace halls, and the way no one looked one another in the eye anymore.

Her brothers rarely spoke of anything but the war. They still asked her about her voyage, but with concern of who saw her aboard a Ravkan vessel. What weapons did they carry? Was she threatened? Every time she told them no, gave vague answers, or simply insisted she was treated kindly, they seemed more annoyed than relieved. Her mother’s concern turned cold, not cruel, just formal. As if unsure whether to embrace her or keep her at arm’s length, like one does a misfired weapon. 

Y/N took to spending hours in the winter garden, where the snow was less political. The glass dome overhead did little to cut the chill, but it kept the frostbite out of her fingers… and her mind. 

And it was there she wrote to him. 

She did not use the Fjerdan seal. She folded the parchment herself and sealed with plain, midnight blue wax, no crest. But the paper was good, her penmanship finer than she remembered, the same slant he once teased her about at university, a give away of her station. 

She didn’t begin with “Prince Nikolai” she didn’t need to.